


Echoes

by thanatoid



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Altered Memories, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gay Robots, Gen, Giant Robots, M/M, Mild Smut, Misunderstandings, Non-Canon Relationship, Non-Graphic Smut, Random Access Memories, Robots, Romantic Fluff, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-05-26 12:38:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15001055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanatoid/pseuds/thanatoid
Summary: Disillusioned after learning of Bumblebee’s death, Thundercracker finds himself plagued by memories where his true intentions were lost to pride. After encountering Jetfire in the EDC base, he uses his new-found creativity (and valuable data from the Autobot flier-come-scientist), to make a device that will allow him to ‘relive’ and interact tangibly with the memories he wishes he could change... He thinks these 'changes' will have no effect on reality. But will they...? || Sort of canon-compliant to IDW Transformers storylines. Bumblebee/Thundercracker. Eventual NSFW.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this fic for over a year now... I originally started uploading it in 2017? I think? And then I got insecure and deleted it. But Bumblebee/Thundercracker is one of my only ships, so I would love to be able to contribute to our small pool of content. I'll upload the completed work one chapter at a time... If you could, I would appreciate kudos and comments so I know if people are interested in seeing more... Thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Fixing typos and that weird thing where using italics adds in an extra space...?

Although Thundercracker’s achievement was far from the Decepticon notion of ‘Destroy and Conquer’, the earth had become all but his. There was little, if any, Cybertronian interference to his daily routine, for which he mostly had the Earth Defence Command’s generosity to thank.

Not so long ago, if he wasn’t being enlisted by Autobots to further betray the Decepticon cause, he was being urged by old comrades to reconsider his neutrality. He couldn’t put a price on the shelter they had given him from it. Once the main artery to the beating heart of his past, the Decepticon badge was now just an anchor that tethered him to events he’d never wanted to be a part of.

So for all Optimus’ return to earth was not a surprise, it was an unwanted reminder, to Thundercracker and the humans both, of memories better left alone.

Yet it only took five words. Five, little words were the keys to the floodgate, that up until that point, had held fast against painful thoughts.

 _I’m afraid I have…_ **_news_ ** _._

He tried to imagine how it would have felt to have heard another name instead, but it didn't change anything. It didn't change the fact that years of war only ever amounted to undeserved finalities, and the burden of wondering about what could have been.

 

* * *

 

Buster was asleep in a far corner of the EDC base, curled up in a doughnut-shaped bed Marissa had provided. Everything Thundercracker _used_ to own for her had been destroyed along with their home.

‘That could have gone better.’

He reacted to Marissa Faireborn's voice, turning away from the large screen embedded into the back wall. It was a decent sounding board for his thoughts, the pictures and sounds serving as a much-needed distraction from things he didn’t really want to dwell on.

‘It could have gone worse,’ he offered eventually.

‘You could have helped.’

‘I did help.’

‘ _More_ , I mean.’

She was flustered, her thermal output higher than usual. In the right visionary adjustment, she existed as a red, inflamed shape at the door.

‘You’re armed for a reason,’ she went on, ‘and although I respect your request to - how did you put it? Avoid getting involved “in a whole thing” -’

Bored, _annoyed_ , Thundercracker cut her off with the sound of the television as it blared an advertisement. He flipped through the channels, Marissa’s voice still audible to him, but as background noise.

Recently, her favourite topic of conversation with him was his battle history. She wanted to know what he could do, would do, and had done. His newfound pacifism didn’t nurture her curiosity so much as it did her criticism. Truly far from a pacifist, all that had really changed for Thundercracker were his limits. How far he would let himself be pushed before violence _was_ the only answer.

_You’re a warrior. A warrior down to your circuits._

‘Does this mean what I think it means?’

Not Marissa’s voice; she was mid-conversation with herself, or rather, with _him_.

‘We board her, strip out the drive and… bingo! We’ve got ourselves a time machine.’

Thundercracker focused on the television screen as he stood up, amused with recognition. In fact, he was grateful for the distraction. If nothing else, it was interesting to see human interpretations and understandings of space. The earlier, the better. He watched as one crude set transitioned into another, the ‘ship’, or _Starbug_ , as the characters called it, a hilarious mash-up of silver-painted tubes, panels and the early 1990’s idea of future-inspired furniture that anyone could replicate with a few bolts and a roll of tin foil.

‘Sirs, choose a year.’

‘Since we can’t guarantee this time drive is going to function properly, I suggest that we select a neutral time period for our first jaunt.’

The screen snapped to slate grey, the picture vanishing in a brief flash, all four of the kooky British characters disappearing with it. He glanced in the direction of the problem’s source; peripherally, he caught Marissa stood one hand on her hip, remote control in the other.

‘How would you feel if I did that to _you_ whilst you were reading me your ridiculous screenplay?’

Thundercracker didn’t turn around to face her. He looked to the floor, every joint rigid as the events of the day hit him. All he wanted was to be left alone.

‘Look,’ Marissa said as she threw the remote control off to the side with a clatter, prompting him to look over his shoulder, ‘I have to get going. Today has just been…’

She made a gesture with her hands, as if to contain a tiny explosion between her palms before throwing it out into something larger and more uncontrollable. Buster lay in her bed, relaxed but alert, her ears pricked for any other startling sounds that might disturb her dreams.

‘Do me a favour and stay put until I can get word to you for what will inevitably come next. Are you listening?’

Thundercracker flinched, aware that he had offered her nothing but an ill-tempered silence and a view of his back ever since she’d stepped foot into the room.

‘Yes,’ he said as he turned around so that he could face her properly, ‘I’m listening.’

‘Good,’ she said, then added, staring fiercely, ‘remember: don’t go anywhere.’

‘I don’t plan to.’

He was rewarded with a wan smile before she collected her things and stormed out of the building. Onto the next vitally important item of her never-ending to-do list.

Over the years, Thundercracker’s own list of things he wanted to do had grown shorter and shorter. Recalling his interaction with Optimus earlier made him feel restless without any proper cause, his circuits abuzz with frustration, the idea of sitting in front of the television for another night suddenly unbearable.

Agitated, Thundercracker paced, his mind stirring with things he’d said that he wished he could take back, memories he spent an effort trying to forget only to have them resurface when he least expected. His heavy footsteps clunked against the concrete, a gentle, high-pitched whine from Buster his cue to become still once more.

For all it was against Marissa’s orders, he knew he couldn’t stand another second cooped up indoors. The best place for him, and the _only_ place, was the sky. He didn’t hesitate in answering the call.

 

* * *

 

The Autobots were once just targets. Their badges, a firing aid. This was an element of their ethos in so simple a form that it felt easier _not_ to question it. Especially since, for the Decepticons, unwavering loyalty was almost the only prerequisite. And if there was one thing Thundercracker knew about in detail, it was loyalty. Before the Decepticons, he had played the unquestioning soldier under Starscream.

Only... those had been simpler times.

Once the war started, everything accelerated. It became easier to work with simpler contingencies in mind. He had once believed that if he just followed all of Megatron’s orders to the letter, and respected his fellow Seekers, the battles would soon be won, and the new ‘Golden Age’ their leader promised would all fall into place.

He had never imagined being neck-deep in the blood of organics, or the reason for why so many Cybertronians would die without ever seeing a proper ceremony for it. The bodies had piled up, and up, and the further he travelled from what once was home, the less he felt able to justify following orders. Still, he had to wonder if any of the Autobots had ever felt the same.

Although Bumblebee was perhaps not the one to ask.

‘This is a conversation we’re going to regret,’ he said, after some consideration.

‘Then pretend you’re unaligned,’ Thundercracker advised. _Like me_ , he wanted to add, although in truth, it was more complicated than that.

Bumblebee assessed him with suspicion. ‘Is this why you called me here?’

In truth, Thundercracker wasn’t sure _why_ he’d called for him. It was a last-minute request to Wheeljack; as promised, the mechanic-come-medic had repaired him. Although not quite as deft-of-hand as he would have liked, one thing Thundercracker couldn’t fault too much was his bedside manner. Despite his expectations, there had been no effective-immediately, armed escort out of the base. Wheeljack had instead finished up his repairs, and invited him to get up and go in his own time.

Yet, for all his patience wasn’t unappreciated, Thundercracker knew better than to assume it was out of any kindness. It was almost as if Wheeljack was under orders not to rush him out. Prowl had even visited during his being attended-to, adding to the suspicion that there was an ulterior motive behind the Autobot’s nicer treatment.

At least when it came to Bumblebee, however, the ‘nice treatment’ was genuine.

‘Sometimes you have to just… trust in the orders you’re given,’ Bumblebee said, although he seemed despondent in the admission.

He rested one hand on the bed, extra support to compensate for the damage he had sustained to his leg. Ever since Bumblebee had arrived, there had been something off about his mood, but Thundercracker was almost sure it wasn’t due the injury he had sustained. The base around them was in a flurry. More Autobots had returned to Earth, and along with Optimus’ presence, there was a charge in the atmosphere. A match about to strike into a great flame; quick decisions had been made, and perhaps not all were fond of the outcome.

‘So what about you?’ Bumblebee then asked, head cocked to the side. ‘Heading back to Cybertron with the others?’

‘Hah.’

Thundercracker couldn’t think of anywhere worse to be than on Cybertron, where there lay the chance of yet another battle. Another battle in an endless war that had long outlasted his patience. As if they hadn’t already ruined their homeworld enough. All that would await them, aside from more deaths and more destruction, would be ruins. A charred, husk of a prize for whoever remained standing long enough to claim it.

‘Cybertron is dead,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing there for anybody anymore.’

Bumblebee’s muted disbelief was both a surprise, and of no surprise; for a ‘bot who had spent more time everywhere else than on his own planet, it was odd he would hold any sentimentality for the place. Yet, he was still idealistic with youth, probably believed somewhere within him that Cybertron would grow a Reset button. That things could be returned to whatever he had known to be ‘peace’ before he’d been forced to become a saboteur.

‘We can’t abandon it,’ Bumblebee eventually said.

‘We already did.’

‘You’ll stay on Earth then?’ he ventured. ‘Forever?’

‘Maybe,’ said Thundercracker. ‘Depends.’

‘You really like it here, huh?’

‘It’s as good as anywhere else.’

‘What if,’ Bumblebee began, then paused. He fixed his gaze to the floor. ‘What if once and for all, with the war finally over, Cybertron becomes habitable again?’ He braved eye contact once again. ‘Would you go back?’

‘You sound oddly confident that the war will even end.’

‘Everything ends,’ Bumblebee said, almost sure.

Almost.

That was what the years had done to him, Thundercracker supposed. It had all been a slow erosion on his optimism, leaving him on the borderline between cynicism and credulity. It would be a realistic disposition, if the uncertainty he had of himself didn’t cling so doggedly to his personality. Perhaps that was an unchangeable part to him. As honourability and a warrior-like spirit was to Thundercracker, self-doubt was to Bumblebee. The one part of him that would never transform, or go anywhere, for as long as he existed in the universe.

‘Like our “acquaintanceship”, then,’ Thundercracker decided to say.

Bumblebee adjusted his stance, a subtle nod to the pain he was in. A composed, expectant stare was his only response, prompting Thundercracker to reiterate the warning.

‘Don’t bother me again,’ he insisted. ‘Don’t follow me. Don’t come looking for me. Don’t ask me for anymore help. I want to be left alone. Do you understand?’

Bee took the words as a cue to move away from the repair bed, allowing Thundercracker the room to get up and leave, if he so pleased.

‘Sure,’ he said, and angled himself for the exit.

Not quite used to his cane, Bumblebee was slow in movement. Thundercracker decided to wait him out, for no other reason than to avoid the awkwardness of having to follow after him. It gave him time to rethink on that last, parting word, of the absolute _lack_ of sureness to it. One way or another, that little yellow Autobot was going to stray into his path again, whether he liked it or not.

Yet the more he dwelled upon it, the more Thundercracker had his own uncertainties of whether or not he would mind.

 

* * *

 

It felt like everyday brought a new memory that he didn’t want to think about. Even stasis naps weren’t safe. Every word he had ever regretted, every action, and all of his decisions were laid bare for his dreams to play with, and for his thoughts to scrutinise.

Unused to such harsh introspection, Thundercracker decided to put it down to the sudden change in his daily routine. The peace he’d had before the Autobots returned was but a blip in an otherwise sustained onslaught of disappointment, but he still begrudged having it ripped away. He hated that there were other Cybertronians on his doorstep threatening to ruin everything, and worse, the unanswered question of the drones he’d found stowed under the base at Bikini Atoll.

He was caught between the instinct to believe that Marissa had to be innocent, and the chance that she had been complicit in the manufacture of these sparkless clones. It wouldn’t be the first time his idealism had been torn down to reveal the uglier picture beneath.

Without necessarily _wanting_ to, Thundercracker recalled the Insecticons. The ease with which Megatron defiled all of his notions of what it meant to be a Decepticon.

As he sat outside under the sun with Buster by his heels, one finger held out to gently nudge a stroke to her back, he grappled for another memory to focus on instead. Not that there was anything much better to pick from. His brain module offered one painful suggestion after another; Skywarp’s fury at him for detonating the nuclear weapon out of the Earth’s atmosphere, Starscream shooting him repeatedly with rage when he had refused to rally to his cause.

That was what standing up for his beliefs had gotten him in the end. Isolation from all he had known, and all of the people he had once considered friends.

Was that life’s reward for the strong-willed?

Still, Thundercracker knew he could have had it worse. He wasn’t entirely innocent when it came to being self-serving. Perhaps he had that to thank for why he was online, when ‘bots like Bumblebee were dwindling with each passing year.

 

With all of the screens removed, the walls held their faded shapes against patches of discolouration. Now, in place of sunrays, shadows leaked and dripped into all of the corners, the moon just-so visible through one of the small windows, a thin crescent above a scattering of stars.

Everything had been packed into boxes days ago, and moved to the next place he would have to learn to call home.

It had been a long time since Thundercracker had felt anything remotely close to homesickness. His forced exodus from Cybertron with his once-fellow Decepticons had been the last instance he could associate with that brand of spark-shrinking dread. Still, he associated it more with leaving familiarity for the unknown than to any sentimental attachments to foundations, walls, or windows.

Which is why it felt strange to be sat in the old gas station when he didn’t need to be. All it was, all it ever had been, was a place to fester uninterrupted, on his choice to defect, and on the great vastness of a future he’d never before had the burden of having to think about. If nothing else, he should have been desperate to put such a tiny, dismal portion of his present existence firmly into the past.

Yet the hours slid by, around and around with the rotation of the earth, and the night was almost ready to warm into dawn by the time he was snapped out of his reverie. As always, his sensors were on high alert, but over time, he had come to learn the rhythms of the world outside of his hiding place. The steady thrum of a human-driven vehicle, lost or else-wise off the beaten track, the rush of a desert wind gathering sand and dust, and then, the unmistakable whir of Cybertronian mechanisms, beeps and signal fuzz, a heat signature somewhere in his peripherals, out of range, but dead-set on its course.

Thundercracker got to his feet, already tense with agitation as he headed for the door and slammed his closed fist against the mechanism that would pull it open. The chain hoist whined as metal folded against metal, and the cool night air seeped in through the widening gap.

‘You really _don’t_ know how to take a hint, do you?’

Bumblebee might as well have not spent the extra effort in an attempt to be quiet as he rolled to a stop in the road. He broke out from his vehicle form and, still relying on his makeshift walking stick, offered an expression of mock surprise as he approached the building.

‘What happened to the revolving door idea?’

‘Get on with it,' Thundercracker bit.

‘On with what?’

Bumblebee was close enough for Thundercracker to reach out and shove him, but he restrained himself against the impulse.

‘Why are you here this time?' he demanded. 'I told you, the radiation signature is all I have -’

‘I’m not here about _that_ ,’ Bumblebee said. ‘That’s over now.’

The words left without any pride or sense of victory; for a moment, Thundercracker mused over the possibility that the mission had been a failure. After all, the little yellow Autobot had had to contend with Starscream, who, whilst bloated with his own brand of insufferable arrogance and narcissism, wasn’t entirely useless at ‘getting the job done’, whatever the job may be. For all of his ham-fisted attempts at taking leadership, he had a dozen other incidents to his name that proved he was harder to outwit than most Autobots seemed willing to believe.

Thundercracker almost laughed out loud, ready to goad Bumblebee over his misplaced ambition, but, attune to the silence that had settled between them, he allowed this cruel aim to dissipate. There was something _wrong_.

It was the way Bumblebee couldn’t hold eye contact for longer than a few seconds before diverting his gaze, the awkward way he stood, one foot over the threshold on the dried-out grass in front of the door, the other still on the road, as if he was half-prepared to leave already. Bumblebee only ever chose to visit when he _wanted_ something, Thundercracker sought to remind himself. Emboldened by his own sense of authority, by the last, limping remnants of control he had over anything in his life, he motioned to duck back inside.

‘If that’s so, then there’s no other reason you should _be_ here,' he said, one hand gripping the folded-up garage door.

‘We’re leaving,’ Bumblebee said.

Thundercracker paused, and turned to look back at him. Bumblebee had spoken with his chin to his chest, finding more comfort in staring at the floor than anywhere else.

‘So?’

That had been Thundercracker's choice of response, and it was as much a shock to him as it looked to be to Bumblebee. There had been no absence of mediation for his thoughts. Seconds had slid by, ample time for him to play with several other options in his head; he’d almost felt them against his tongue until his mind, jarred with chagrin at the mere idea of being _sentimental_ , settled on and spat out the first thing it could get him to verbalise. A kick to the chestplate would have felt nicer than having to watch as Bumblebee struggled to rise above his own faltering self-esteem.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘most all of your old friends made it back to Cybertron already.’

‘They’re _not_ my friends,’ Thundercracker cut in, annoyed to have to repeat himself, hot with irritation at this whole situation.

What did he care for any embarrassment Bumblebee might feel? It was his own fault for assuming Thundercracker would even want to _know_ when the Autobots were due to depart. He’d spent enough time on this planet to be able to tell a human-made aircraft from a Cybertronian space vessel. In fact, it was insulting that Bumblebee hadn’t concluded for himself that all Thundercracker had to see was their ship receding into the atmosphere to be able to figure out that the Autobots had all finally decided to leave.

‘I know you like it here,’ Bee went on, the hand he wasn’t using to grip his walking stick open-palmed in a calming, apologetic gesture. ‘I just wanted to double-check -’

‘Well you needn’t have bothered.’

Thundercracker glared at him, a little surprised that Bumblebee was able to stare right back, undeterred, straight-faced as he said,

‘I guess you’re right.’

Thundercracker’s hand tightened around the soft metal of the garage door. It crumpled and crunched under the pressure.

'It's fine,' Bumblebee said with a swift nod, an acknowledgement of their departing. ‘Maybe I'll see you around some day.’

There was a tiredness to the way he spoke, a lack of satisfaction. Perhaps with the way his mission on Earth had turned out after all, perhaps because, as Thundercracker had guessed, the Decepticons he’d attempted to keep earthbound had found out how to use the spacebridge and returned anyway, despite the Autobot's best efforts. He could have said it, but he didn’t; he could have told Bee right then and there that the pressures of leadership didn’t suit him. That there was a difference in his demeanour, some restrained understanding that disappointment would forever be the main taste of the day, no matter what he did.

Naturally a people-pleaser, Bumblebee was going to learn, one way or another, the impossibility of keeping all of the people happy all of the time.

Even though Thundercracker could have said as much, he didn’t. In fact, he could have said anything right then and there, and it would have been better than what he did say.

Which was nothing.

Bumblebee waited him out for a few seconds, before he took up his vehicle form and reversed out into the road. He left behind only dust clouds and an awkward, immovable silence, that Thundercracker felt would follow him around for the rest of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and the kind comments so far. I hope this chapter is okay... Some reference to IDW storylines here just as a heads up...
> 
> EDIT: Just fixing some typos, weird italics space thing, etc...

‘No, girl.’

Buster stared up at him, impossibly small by his foot. She was whining, her eyes fixed on his optics as she reluctantly sat down.

The outlines of screens and furniture existed as dark shapes against the dimmed lights of the base. Everything outside the walls was dead-silent. Unaffected by the darkness, Thundercracker looked upon the end-product of what had been weeks of work. A glow from inside the closed container slipped through the cracks in the structure. Cylindrical in shape, it stood tall in the far-corner of the room, a capsule, not for the future, but for the past.

Night-time hours slipped into early morning, the birds not yet awake, along with Marissa and the other humans at the EDC base, who were often preoccupied by their need to sleep. Which was lucky for him. This was a project, unlike his screenplay, that he didn’t want her to take an interest in.

_Does this mean what I think it means?_

It was an idea he had ruminated on for a while. Time travel in theory couldn’t be all _that_ absurd, could it? He was sure there were Cybertronian scientists before the war looking into the possibilities. Maybe even more so during it.

At first, it was something to keep himself occupied outside of hovering on the outskirts of Bikini Atoll and penning new scenes in his screenplay. Either that, or some subconscious need, manifested by the overwhelming sense of guilt he was carrying. The former excuse was one he felt more comfortable with, and so he told himself this new activity would throw Marissa off the scent of what he had discovered, before she became too suspicious.

For a while, she didn’t even comment on the piles of junk he was hoarding out in the middle of the base. At least not with any suspicion. Buster would sniff around the edges of the growing collection, nose to the floor, tail wagging as she made her way around its entire perimeter, and Thundercracker would add to it, method somewhere in the madness.

Even before the war, he had never been much of an engineer. To create was hardly in his nature. For all he spent more time deconstructing his past behaviours and tendencies rather than re-living them, he couldn’t deny that it had always been _de_ struction that had captured his interest, not _con_ struction. In fact, if he hadn’t sought to join in underground gladiatorial combat all of those eons ago, his participation in the inevitable civil war that tore their planet apart might have been a whole lot different.

Still, he was Cybertronian. It was in his coding to change and to learn. So as frustrating as it was to work on such an intricate, precarious project with his poor dexterity, and penchant for using the parts that wouldn’t cooperate as hammers, he wasn’t about to let his own personal failings prevent him from trying.

Besides, he didn’t want to do anything outlandish. And the more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed that anything would even come of it. An inability to iron out the science with his own, personal knowledge-base was one crucial sticking point to what he wanted to achieve.

Human databases - compared to Cybertronian technology and data storage - were crude and slow. Slow enough for it to be almost painful to access them, and power through the rudimentary security procedures to get to a stash of information that, oftentimes, just wasn’t worth knowing. So far from his home planet, it was almost impossible to access the rich data stores there that may have been able to aid him in his project.

That was until he found a way into some of it, hiding right underneath his feet.

 

One of Optimus’ team members brought with him on his return was Jetfire.

He was an Autobot scientist, or so Thundercracker understood. And as expected of an intellectual, he wasn’t _stupid_. A lot of the remote access points Thundercracker had considered for infiltration were well-guarded. All of Jetfire’s information, data, theories, and secrets were hidden behind security protocols that he couldn’t breach all on his own.

Sometimes the only solution to a problem was just to _ask_.

But he had to act quickly.

After D.0.C. and Buster had explained their escapades, there was a moment of intense discussion about what was to be done. There was grumbling about the awfulness of being trapped, to what extent the EDC were involved by default, and whether or not the little drone Jetfire took a moment to attend to was more sentient than most realised. In fact, out of everybody, Jetfire appeared to be the most troubled of mind. He was isolated, positioned away from the others, re-calibrating the inner instruments accompanying D.0.C.’s systems. So Thundercracker took the opportunity to approach him, Buster at his heels.

At a loss for how to begin the conversation, he stopped a short distance away from the Autobot, aware that all he had to say was the _wrong thing_ , and this opportunity would pass him by. His time on earth had made him milder of temper, at least. Irritation was no longer the first thing to rush to the forefront of his mind.

Just the second.

Or third.

Although now, it was more impatience. So long as he wasn’t being bothered, or pushed to do things he didn’t want to do, he felt at peace. To be on the other side of the situation, to be the one seeking to bother somebody else instead of being the one to be bothered... Well, it was different, and he was at a loss for how to begin.

His one point of reference for that, was Bumblebee. Thundercracker tried to imagine how _he_ would start this conversation. With honesty, or humour? A bit of both could work.

‘Funny how they made such a, uh...’

Thundercracker faltered, stunned by how quick Jetfire was to drop his task and look right at him. The taller flier even got to his feet, a gentle pat to D.0.C.’s side a cue that the inspection was over. Expressive for a drone, it appeared to light up at the sight of Buster; she ran straight for it, yapping, tail wagging.

‘...Good team,’ Thundercracker finished.

‘Yes, well,’ Jetfire said, expression serious, ‘I never _intended_ sentience for him. I’ll need to investigate further…’

‘You mean... Ambus Test him?’

It wasn’t until his extended vacation on earth that Thundercracker had put some thought into what were once standard customs and belief systems for him. There were a lot of creatures that humans didn’t consider to be worthy of the same rights as them, for all they sometimes had similar organs and body parts. Earth was a planet teeming with the most minute of organisms, to the largest of animals. In his own observations, Thundercracker had come to understand how hard it was to figure out where the line should be drawn between sentience and _in_ sentience.

Yet as D.0.C. bleeped and hovered before his dog, no harm to anybody, and perfectly capable of responding to stimuli in unique and varied ways, the whole concept of an Ambus Test felt almost cruel.

‘Buster wouldn’t pass one of those,’ Thundercracker found himself saying, his tone almost critical. ‘But she has feelings. And she’s smart. Isn’t that right?’

Upon hearing her name, Buster had turned to face him. She offered a sharp yap in response and sat on the floor, wiggling with excitement. Jetfire glanced down, shifting his foot a little to be mindful of the smaller lifeforms beneath him. Buster then adopted a playful stance, chasing the drone behind Jetfire’s legs.

‘I’ll just observe him for now,’ the Autobot answered with ambivalence, frowning as he spoke.

Thundercracker was unable to decipher whether the look on his faceplate was one of confusion or judgement. It wasn’t _his_ fault if his attachment to Buster was hard to understand - really, it was no different to keeping D.0.C. around, or Soundwave with Laserbeak and Ravage. She was more than just a _pet_ , but he wasn’t here to talk about that, and felt resentful of having to be defensive of it anyway.

With a quick check back to confirm they were alone and out of direct audial range of anybody who might interrupt, Thundercracker decided, with the time for ‘humour’ well and truly over, ‘honesty’ was the next best thing to try.

‘Do you know anything about time travel?’ he asked.

The change in conversation pulled Jetfire from his reverie. He locked optics with Thundercracker, this time most definitely _confused_.

‘What has that got to do with anything?’

‘You’re a scientist, aren’t you?’ Thundercracker pressed.

‘There are many branches of science,’ Jetfire reminded him.

‘So?’

‘I’m not a theoretical physicist.’

Thundercracker listened with all the patience he could muster as Jetfire explained the kind of science he was most familiar with. He name-dropped here and there, listing off terms and vocabulary that, without context, might as well have been an alien language heard before Thundercracker's translation features could kick-in.

‘Well,’ he said, once Jetfire was finished, ‘does that mean you can teach me about time travel, or you can’t?’

‘It really depends what you want to know,’ came the reply.

‘Mostly if it’s possible to go back in time,’ Thundercracker said.

‘Then no,’ said Jetfire. ‘It shouldn’t be.’

‘I’m just talking _theoretically_.’

‘So am I,’ he said, words clipped with impatience. ‘I’m telling you that _theoretically_ , it can’t be done. Forwards in time, maybe. But not backwards. You’d run into several versions of your past self. The whole thing would be chaos.’

‘Fine,’ said Thundercracker, ready to try a different tact, ‘what if you could go back and relive your memories? I mean, by physically being in the memory, as if it was happening all over again. Maybe… change a few things about it. Things you wish you’d done differently.’

Jetfire dedicated to him a long, judgemental stare.

Not all of the Autobots were on-board with alliance changes, or the emergence of the non-aligned. As there were devout Decepticons unable to believe anybody would have a belief-system different to theirs, there were Autobots so entrenched in their old ways that the idea of befriending anyone who once wore a purple badge was not worth contemplating.

Jetfire, however, had some experience with being on the fence. Thundercracker didn’t feel so much judged by him for his former alliance, as he felt judged by him on intellectual grounds. Although he was far from stupid, he would be the first to admit that he was out of his depth in their conversation. His ideas were more creative than logical, which the Autobot was all too happy to point out.

‘Maybe in science- _fiction_ ,’ Jetfire eventually said, ‘which - I’m guessing - is more in line with your current interests.’

This gave Thundercracker pause for thought. By their feet, D.0.C. and Buster ran circles around each other, his little dog cheerfully playful whilst the drone beeped and trilled its joy.

‘You can use reality in fiction,’ he said. ‘Writers have to do research, you know.’

‘What’s your point?’

‘You can say no. I mean, you’re probably going to.’

Jetfire exercised patience. He inclined his head a little, waiting for Thundercracker’s request. Reserving judgement until the query was made.

‘Do you happen to have any data on time travel?’ Thundercracker asked. ‘Written theories? Interesting anecdotes? Opinions and thought pieces from Cybertronian scientists, other than yourself? I’ve tried looking at what the humans have,’ he said, and gestured back to the apparatus positioned around the base, ‘but everything moves so…’

‘Glacially?’ Jetfire cut in.

‘Yeah.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s agonising.’

‘I have barely anything on the subject in my own banks,’ Thundercracker continued, hoping the offer would be made before he had to ask.

It seemed he was in luck.

‘You’re using this for your writing, then?’

He nodded, careful not to appear too eager.

‘I suppose I can dig through what I have in my laboratory on board the Ark-7,’ Jetfire finally acquiesced. ‘It won’t be anything substantial. It’s not a particular interest of mine. You’d have better luck with someone like Brainstorm.’

‘Can’t say I’ve met him,’ Thundercracker admitted. ‘But thanks. I’m sure whatever you have will be good enough.’

 

* * *

 

Afterwards, the pain was intense. One minute he was on his feet, the next he had collapsed backwards. He was disorientated, his vision full of static, unable to focus on any one thing in the room. Voices echoed distantly, everything distorted and in partial sentences. Scents of warm metal and oil, rugged and rough, took him off of earth altogether. Thoughts scattered, he recognised a familiar face as his optics cleared. Seeing Skywarp so close, his hands at his shoulders, Thundercracker withdrew. He pushed the other Seeker with enough force to stagger him.

‘What is your problem?!’ Thundercracker was able to make out. ‘I’m trying to help.’

‘I don’t need your help,' he managed.

His once-brother put his hands on his hips and scowled, attention taken elsewhere as they both received an order through their internal communication units.

_We have guests. Perhaps you ought to greet them._

‘Megatron?’

Skywarp glanced at him, silently confused by the outburst. For the first time since his arrival, Thundercracker took in the room around them. Blue-hued walls towered all around, a scattering of glass under the far window evidence of their entry point before his collapse. Still on his knees, recognition stabbed at every corner of his mind, and he realised with regret that he wasn’t anywhere _near_ the time he had wanted to visit. This was cycles ago. Too many cycles ago for it to be worthwhile.

‘Of course _Megatron_ ,’ Skywarp snipped. ‘Who else? Get up already. I’m betting we just found ourselves some Autobots to play with.’

Shaky, head frazzled by panicked thoughts, Thundercracker did as he was told. They were in the Citadel, previously the birthing chamber of Zeta’s vamparc ribbons - under Megatron’s orders, the Decepticons had overtaken it after he had dispatched of Orion Pax, betraying a tentative alliance they’d shared against the tyrannical Prime.

A lot of the Autobots had gone underground despite an invitation for them to join the Decepticon cause. As Thundercracker walked out of the room after Skywarp, he felt unsettled, circuits buzzing, dull aches from his movement out of one time and into another enough to sicken him.

Every step, he took with caution. The fear had suddenly set in that he would walk in on another version of himself. Just like Jetfire had warned him about. Although, if everything had gone according to plan, his actual body was still back at the EDC base, shut inside the capsule. His _mind_ was the only thing that should have jumped, but he still couldn’t control the anxiety wrenching away at his insides. Several times, walking down what was a straight, albeit narrow corridor, he bumped into Skywarp, scraped his wings with his own, or clipped his heels.

‘What is wrong with you?’ his brother snapped, turning to face him. ‘You’re acting really _weird_.’

Thundercracker straightened, only aware of how stooped-over he had been once he had corrected his posture.

‘I’m fine,’ he said gruffly.

‘Why are you walking like that?’

‘Like what?’

‘Like you’re _hiding_ from someone.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You and Starscream might think I’m stupid,’ Skywarp bit, ‘but I’m not blind.’

‘Would you keep moving? I want to get this over with.’

Thundercracker was able to compose himself enough to express his annoyance into an unvoiced threat, glaring hard. Although far from convinced, Skywarp opted to leave him be, and they both continued on their way. Thundercracker was wiser this time, however, and remained several steps behind. His neck and shoulders were so tense they ached, thoughts bouncing from one extreme to the other. Far worse than seeing a duplicate of himself was knowing exactly what he was about to walk into.

Skywarp led him around a corner to the right and to the outside of the Citadel. Once through the doors, they caught the Decepticon troops, smug as they paraded the captive Autobots single-file towards them. Starscream was there, and against the bitter irritation festering around his spark, Thundercracker had to remind himself that at this point in time, they were still on good terms.

The sight before him was one he had once learnt to enjoy. Their ‘enemies’ beat down, submissive, thoroughly defeated.

The revisit felt pitiable, however.

He didn’t feel _sorry_ for the Autobots, he felt embarrassed that he had ever stood there unable to think beyond his loyalty. Stricken with new-found shame, he watched in silence as Hot Rod was poached from the group. None of the other Autobots were looking his way, but he caught sight of a flash of yellow somewhere in the middle and adjusted his position to see better.

‘Hot Rod has agreed to come with us,’ Starscream said on his approach, interrupting his fixation. ‘We’re to take him to see Megatron.’

The orange-and-red coloured Autobot followed, but kept his distance, expression wary. Thundercracker remembered talk of what had happened to him, and his people. It had impressed Megatron at the time, and was going to impress him all over again. As was almost the usual, Starscream didn’t wait around. He leapt into the air, transformed, and sped to their glorious leader’s side ready for the next command. Meanwhile, Thundercracker obediently followed as Skywarp took point, Hot Rod between them and surrounded on all sides by extraneous members of the hunting party. With one glance over his shoulder, Thundercracker caught the tail end of the captured Autobots as they were herded into the Citadel, and no doubt towards the holding cells.

Thankfully, Skywarp did most of the talking. Both the first, _and_ second time around. He had always liked to brag, particularly about Megatron. As they traipsed through the Citadel’s corridors, the Autobot insignia already in the process of being scrubbed and chipped from every wall, Thundercracker did his best to remember the sequence of events as they had occurred originally. With any luck, the timer he had set on his home-made device would run dry before he had to step back out of Megatron’s presence. His memories were hazy, not with misfiling or poor recording, but with _age_. This was a long time ago, and a lot had happened since then to knock some of the older events out of place.

He could tell they were nearing the end of this journey at least, because other Decepticons were gathered in the area directly in the alcove of one of the nearby balconies. Added security. Or as Thundercracker considered now with new-found bitterness, sycophants available to bolster their leader’s confidence in the rare opportunities it had to falter.

Iacon’s horizon smoldered red through the doors ajar, the stars a faint glimmer against the lights of the city. They caught Starscream on his way out, and allowing Skywarp to continue escorting Hot Rod, he beckoned at Thundercracker with a flick of his wrist. Thundercracker’s spark missed a pulse, his recollection of this lost to a great, empty gap in the space between right now, and what he knew would happen further down the road.

Naturally, he went to Starscream without complaint. That’s what the old him would have done.

‘Megatron has asked me to interrogate the prisoners,’ Starscream said.

Although there was pride in this statement, it was belied by his lack of enthusiasm. Starscream was a master manipulator. He didn’t mind committing acts of cruelty, so long as he wasn’t the one who had to get his hands dirty. Torture didn’t suit him, which was precisely why Megatron had ordered him to do it.

‘What has that got to do with me?’ Thundercracker asked.

Even if he couldn’t remember the exact words he had once used, he could at least remember his own temperament. He had always been surly, and ill-inclined to being forced to do things he didn’t much feel like doing.

‘You need to watch the others,’ Starscream said, as if this was obvious. ‘The cells must be guarded. Skywarp will probably join you, when he’s through bowing to His Eminence.’

They used to share this criticism of their brother in common, and he knew Starscream had said it expecting a familiar reaction. An addition, a laugh. At the very least, a smirk. Instead, Thundercracker stared ahead, rigid with nerves. Trying to calculate how much time he might have been here already so that he could have some comfort in knowing when it was all going to end.

‘Megatron told me to interrogate the little yellow one first,’ Starscream continued. ‘It’s supposed to be punishment for his escape earlier. And from what I’ve heard, the others quite like him -’

Thundercracker’s lack of reaction might have continued to not phase his leader if he had just committed to his silence.

‘You mean Bumblebee?’

They had backtracked through the very route he’d walked with Skywarp and Hot Rod, the grand opening hall sprawled ahead of them in all of its opulence. Tall, glass-like pillars pulled the corners into a great arch overhead, and the cold, patterned blue stones echoed back their every step.

‘I didn’t think you’d taken notice of their names. Our alliance with them was so brief.’

Although Starscream’s tone was casual, it was barbed with surprised interest.

‘That was no alliance,’ Thundercracker deflected.

His intended context thankfully drowned under Starscream’s misinterpretation of it.

‘Still, it was pretty funny. Orion Pax was too naive to be true.’

It was as they entered the lower chambers that Starscream said this, loud enough to be overheard by the Autobots trapped in their cell. There had been movement before their arrival, probably the beginnings of some futile attempt to escape since the hunting party had left them. Once Thundercracker and Starscream were in proper view, all of the Autobots had taken their seats again, hands still cuffed, faces tired, but set, in Ironhide’s case, with a burgeoning temper.

Thundercracker looked over them all, recognising only Ultra Magnus, and of course Bumblebee, whose gaze he avoided altogether. The smaller Autobot’s expression was fierce as Starscream addressed them all.

‘Megatron has decided on how you will all be dealt with,’ he said through a grin. ‘Your old friend, Hot Rod, sends his regards of course.’

‘ _Sure_ he does,’ Ironhide snipped. ‘Now are you gonna get this over with or not?’

‘If that’s what you want. Thundercracker, bring me - what did you say his name was?’

Rather than answer, he worked on disabling the shielding.

‘Bumblebee, was it?’ Starscream finished for him.

Thundercracker refused to tune in to Ironhide’s growing rage, his accusations that they were all cowards, Starscream’s laughter so distant it might as well have been from another room. Still, he had no recollection of any of this. Couldn’t remember if Bumblebee had looked so stern the first time around, or if he had refused to resist, as he did now. He didn’t drag his feet, didn’t appear to be upset; it was the others around him working up a fuss, until Starscream silenced them, aiming shots of hot plasma at the floor to keep them from advancing towards the lowered shields.

Once the barrier was restored, the reaction from the Autobots only gave Starscream more ammo to tease them with.

‘Don’t worry. Since it’s his first time, I’ll be _extra_ gentle.’

More uproar, and Thundercracker gripped the metal bridge between the stasis cuffs tighter, willing the simulation to end. Of all the memories to revisit, this had been the last one on his mind. Bumblebee tugged against him, his arms held up. So determined not to look at him, to not catch his optics, Thundercracker almost forgot the Autobot’s height disadvantage. He set him down in time for Starscream to take him, but surprised himself by yanking Bumblebee a whole step backwards instead. This elicited a soft whimper from Bumblebee; the first sound he had made since being taken.

‘I’ll do it,’ Thundercracker said, despite himself. ‘I’ll interrogate him.’

Starscream stiffened. ‘But Megatron ordered _me_ to.’

He wasn’t the only one to suffer from the suddenness of the decision, but Thundercracker had run out of ideas, and patience. He wanted to go back to the EDC base, he wanted to detach himself from this whole ordeal. The thought of having to stay here long enough to hear Bumblebee’s cries from the next room wasn’t one he wanted to even entertain, never mind live through.

Again.

Maybe following the memories to the letter was the problem. Maybe, to break himself free, he had to deviate from rehearsed neural paths.

‘I want to do it,’ he lied. ‘I don’t think I could stand to be here, listening to them all whine.’

The lead Seeker hesitated. Their companionship with Megatron was still mostly in its infancy. Whilst Starscream had ranted about their new leader and all of the ways he was growing to detest him - to Megatron’s own face, and in private - he was yet to directly disobey him.

‘You’ll be better at worrying them than me,’ Thundercracker said, trying anything to get him to agree. ‘If you were to leave me here with them, they might all be dead by the time you get back.’

His brother deliberated as the Autobots swarmed to the cell barrier, all hot with contempt. He glanced at Bumblebee, who was uncharacteristically silent - no quips, no complaints, no sharp-witted barbs. Just quiet, unable to put his arms down thanks to Thundercracker’s greater height, his face half-hidden behind his raised shoulder.

‘Fine,’ Starscream eventually snarled. ‘But you better get some good information from him, or else Megatron might question my decision.’

Thundercracker gave a nod in response, then tugged Bumblebee behind him, towards one of the interrogation chambers. His walk brisk, strides long, he was too deep in worry to consider the smaller Autobot’s difficulty with keeping up. Aside from that, Bumblebee was almost compliant. This would have raised red flags if Thundercracker wasn’t so committed to ending the simulation.

Once they passed through the doors of the chamber, he dragged Bumblebee towards the centre of the room - there was a single slab with locking mechanisms for the subject’s arms and legs. Off to the side, there was a blacked-out window designed for observations. Although Thundercracker knew there would be nobody on the other side, he tried not to dwell on the fact that he was yet to see Soundwave anywhere since the reliving of this memory began.

Bumblebee’s compliance stopped the moment they reached the bed. As Thundercracker lifted him onto it, Bumblebee drew up his legs and kicked outwards. The Seeker stepped to the side. He then planted his hands firmly at the Autobot’s shoulders, wrestling to keep him still.

‘Stop moving, and I won’t hurt you,’ he said through his teeth.

‘Like I’m going to believe that!’

Bumblebee squirmed free and brought his hands up together, still cuffed, smacking Thundercracker in the side of the head with more force than the Seeker anticipated. The room folded into static, everything hued red as his internal systems alerted him to component damage. As though a switch had been flipped, he swept his left arm with a swing strong enough to knock Bee from the slab and onto the floor with a crash.

Dazed, Bumblebee didn’t get the time to gather himself back onto his feet. Thundercracker, in his aim to keep the Autobot still, dropped onto his knees over him, straddling him at the waist, forcing his arms up over his head.

‘I told you to stay still,’ he said, the action rough enough to shock Bumblebee.

‘You can do whatever you want to me,’ he said as he struggled. ‘I’ve got nothing to tell you.’

‘Good. There’s nothing you know that I would want to hear.’

This stilled Bumblebee for a moment. Although he didn’t fully relax, he stopped fighting, tilting his head in question.

‘I’m no expert,’ he said, ‘but that’s not usually how this works.’

‘Like I said,’ Thundercracker replied, struggling to contain his temper, ‘stay still, and I won’t hurt you.’

Bumblebee was on his back, knees drawn up, feet flat on the floor, and Thundercracker was on top of him, pinning him down at the wrists. He waited, expecting everything around him would disintegrate at any moment. His optics were soon going to readjust, and he’d be back at the EDC base. Buster would be pacing outside of the capsule, and the sun wouldn’t be completely up so he would have time to disengage from all of the wires, and pretend none of this had happened.

Instead, Bee distracted him from the fantasy. He stirred underneath Thundercracker. Tilting his chin up, he strained to look around the room.

‘Okay,’ he said with uncertainty. ‘What now?’

‘Just stay still,’ Thundercracker growled, 'and be quiet.’

More squirming, this time as Bumblebee tried to roll his wrists. The cuffs were no doubt causing him considerable discomfort by now. To threaten him, Thundercracker pressed down harder. He shifted to kneel between Bumblebee’s parted legs, leaning forwards so that their faces were closer than before. Bee tensed.

'What are you doing?'

'Trying to keep you from moving,' Thundercracker said.

A pause. Then Bumblebee said, ‘This is weird...'

‘How is it weird?’

By the time the question was out, Thundercracker already had his answer. He hadn’t considered how this would look if anybody walked in on them, and now it had been mentioned, every movement from under him felt dangerous. The way Bumblebee lifted his leg to trace his knee against Thundercracker’s side didn’t seem accidental either. Optics trained on him, Bumblebee appeared to be watching for any flickering change in Thundercracker’s expression as he spoke.

‘I’ve been interrogated before,’ he said. ‘Not by a Decepticon, but -’

‘I just want you to be quiet,’ Thundercracker snapped, growing uncomfortable. ‘And to not move! It’s not difficult.’

He glared down at Bumblebee, grip tightening at his wrists. Willing for release.

‘You’re right, it’s not difficult,’ Bumblebee said, lifting his knee a little higher. He was rubbing it back and forth slowly, just nudging at Thundercracker’s midriff. ‘At least not for me.’

Thundercracker freed up one of his hands to take hold of Bumblebee's leg, pushing it flat to the floor.

‘Stop it,’ he growled.

The Autobot flinched, and Thundercracker was forced to look away.

If this had been happening anywhere else, at any other time outside of these circumstances, he might not have minded. But it wasn’t the same. In this memory, Bumblebee was an Autobot saboteur. They weren’t friends, they hadn’t even _met_ before, and everything he was doing was under duress. It was an attempt to distract him, because as far as Bumblebee was concerned, his real friends were being held captive, and this situation could turn sour for him at any moment.

To think he had just wanted an opportunity to apologise. To see the difference it would have made if they had parted as friends, and not estranged enemies. The guilt weighed heavier in his chest than it had done hours earlier, and his thoughts were frantic, real panic setting in.

What if he ended up stuck here forever? What if the machine had malfunctioned, and he would be stuck in the memory, in an unending nightmare? Maybe Marissa had found him comatose, and disconnected the wires prematurely. Or worse, he had miscalculated the physical limits he believed to constrain the device’s true potential - he might not just be _reliving_ the memory, but re _writing_ it instead.

Thundercracker lifted himself upright, then clambered to a stand, mind gripped with revulsion for what he had done. Jetfire was right to be dubious about his ideas, and right to question them. He was the scientist - he knew about these things, whereas for Thundercracker, this was all a ridiculous fantasy.

Stiff and silent, Bumblebee remained on the floor. He was still lying on his back, watching Thundercracker carefully, his cuffed hands now resting on his chassis. The door slid open at the far side of the room, and as Thundercracker turned in response to the sound, his vision cut out.

Starscream’s voice echoed around the chamber, fading and distorting. The familiar grunts and clatters of an ensuing fight became lost to the incessant, muffled yaps of an anxious Buster and the soft whir of his own systems as his sight, restored, showed him the innards of the capsule that had taken him there.

 

As Thundercracker ripped the nodes out, his mind reeled, the room almost spinning. Palms pressed over his optics, he remained still. The memory forever tainted. Outside, the early hours continued to ease the sun over the horizon. At the door of the capsule, Buster’s paws cut into the light leaking through from the window. She must have sensed he was alert once again. She paced, her miserable whines muffled by the thickness of the walls that encased him.

Although her hearing was good enough to catch almost every internal mechanism inside of him, Thundercracker elected to remain silent. If he spoke her name, it would only make things worse.

He sat for a while, the thin wires of the apparatus tangled in his palms. No matter how hard he pushed the thought away, the idea persisted that this device had greater potential than what he intended for it. How was he to know if anything that had happened moments prior, back in the Citadel, had not cemented itself in living memory in replacement of the original events?

Minutes passed in which he tried to convince himself that these were just worries, and nothing more. There was no way he could have created something that powerful on a whim, as a pet project. It couldn’t happen.

But he couldn’t know for sure.

His hands shook as he reattached the wires. If this was going to work, he had to think more clearly this time.

One more try, just to make sure, and then he would rest...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I don't really know how Jetfire feels about time travel... but he comes across to me as the type who wouldn't bother with it. I hope I've not mis-characterised him too badly anyway, ha ha. Oh well... Any comments and/or kudos would be appreciated...! Thank you again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is late... I hope it is worth the wait... Not sure when I might get the chance to upload the next chapter, but I'm hoping in the next two weeks sometime. I post updates on my tumblr - seiportne - if that's helpful anyway. Thank you again for any comments/kudos, it's always appreciated.
> 
> EDIT: Fixed some typos, added in a few lines that are necessary for some changes I've made on the original draft...

A residual ache accompanied the transition, his frame tense until recognition eased him into the memory.

There was an array of screens. Cybertronian technology arced around the spot in which he lay. He had his back flat to a repair table, his optics trained to the ceiling. If he focused hard enough, he could pick out every mote of dust that clung to the grooves in the metal; glittering specks, they twirled and spun in a slow dance, suspended in the thickness of the warm and uncirculated desert air.

‘You could at least try and stay still,’ a familiar voice said.

Thundercracker’s instinct was to move his arms, aware that they were trapped under something. At his left side, Wheeljack rose to full height, expression as stern as he could make it despite his signature faceplate covering more than half of his features.

‘I’m doin’ my best here.’

Thundercracker waited for the next half of the sentence. _I’m not a doctor_. It didn’t stop the Autobots treating him like one. Desperate times, and all of that.

‘So am I,’ Thundercracker said.

The Autobot gave a curt laugh, before leaning over once again, out of sight.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m almost done torturin' you.’

He was working under one of the panels at Thundercracker’s left flank. A spark of pain buzzed under the tool he had pressed to the circuitry. Thundercracker tried to relax, still taut with apprehension of what could be about to unfold. This memory was closer to the time he wanted to be in, but was still not ideal. It was going to be hard to ascertain whether his interference with the memory of the Citadel had left a long-lasting impression.

He turned his head, transfixed by the soft lights and quiet sounds emitted from the equipment that surrounded them. With each stinging pang he opened his fingers and clenched them into fists, counting down the nanokliks to the next thing Wheeljack was about to say.

The Autobot finished up with what he was doing before he ran a diagnostic to check Thundercracker’s system readouts, as taciturn as he had been throughout the rest of the procedure.

Even in the original memory, Thundercracker couldn’t remember either of them being particularly conversational. There was a lot going on outside of the walls that contained them. That, and Wheeljack no doubt begrudged having to operate on him at all. Other Autobots had been injured, and although their engineer was out of his comfort zone in the role of doctor, it still had to sting, even just a little bit, to be given the task of fixing up an ex-Decepticon over any one of his friends lying elsewhere in their base. The allocation of ‘resources’ could be a cruel thing.

With the touch of a button, Wheeljack released the restraints on the operation slab.

‘You can leave when you feel ready to,’ he said. ‘Will you be needin’ anythin’ else?’

‘Is that a serious question?’ Thundercracker asked.

It was probably better to stick to the script this time, just to be on the safe side.

‘Energy readouts are low,’ Wheeljack clarified, ‘I’ve got permission to offer a complimentary energon portion.’ He took the small container from under one of the counters and placed it with a clatter on the slab. ‘And yes, that question was _serious_.’

In the midst of sitting up, Thundercracker picked up the pack of energon slithers and eyed them, as if interested. Far better than anything he had in what was left of his hideout, he remembered thinking at the time that he would be a fool to reject the offer. Only, he didn’t want to appear desperate. So like before, he slid the pack over the slab, at an arm’s reach away.

‘There is one thing you can do for me,’ he said, scraping himself to the edge of the bed, tall enough to be able to rest his feet on the floor.

‘Oh really?’

Wheeljack had his back to him again, preoccupied with the nearest console, every stroke of his fingers against the keys rougher than necessary. There were a lot of ways Thundercracker could have voiced his request, but transparency evaded him. The underlying concern being that some unspoken admission would accompany his words if he didn’t make them as vague and as uninvolved as he _wanted_ his true emotions to be.

‘How is your saboteur?’ was what he managed.

Wheeljack didn’t react for a moment. Thundercracker could almost hear the mechanisms in his brain module clicking together.

‘You mean Bumblebee.’

It came out less like a question, and more like a statement. The extra lashings of feigned surprise only heightened Thundercracker's fears. There was a brief period of silence in which he assumed Wheeljack was communicating through channels outside of the frequencies available to him. If he tried and really wanted to, there was a chance he could intercept some of the covert Autobot chatter passing him by. The inclination was not there, however. It had never really been his _job_ either.

‘He’s functional enough to tell you himself,’ Wheeljack said. ‘Anythin’ else?’

The offer was a formality, with no real heart. It was obvious Wheeljack was overworked. Still, following his quip about preferring Ratchet as his medic, Thundercracker couldn’t help but push the Autobot’s buttons a little.

‘Well, I wouldn’t want to put you out but...’

Wheeljack turned to face him, one hand still on the console. Thundercracker considered himself lucky that Bumblebee had made it to the door at that exact moment. It slid open and he rested on a makeshift crutch, peering into the room as if he was unsure of what to expect.

‘You asked for me?’

‘I didn’t,’ Wheeljack said, and gestured to the bed. ‘ _He_ did.’

He left then, patting Bumblebee on the shoulder as he passed over the threshold. The smaller Autobot watched Wheeljack go before dedicating any attention to Thundercracker, who was sure in the original memory that he had been able to think of something to say to dissipate the silence. This time around, every word in his vocabulary diminished into nothing.

Thundercracker found it hard to look at Bumblebee, considering his most recent recollection of him. A captive, lying beneath him; behaving in a way that should have repulsed him, but instead, stirred within him the kind of feelings he preferred to keep untouched at all opportunities.

‘I heard about what happened,’ Bumblebee then said as he limped into the room. ‘I’m sorry about your base.’

Optics fixed to the console Wheeljack had left idle, Thundercracker glanced at Bumblebee just as he drew level with the bed. There had been some mention of that the first time around. It struck him again, the initial thought that had accompanied the little yellow Autobot’s concern: that it was just typical he would care more about some hovel of a hideout being trashed than the fact that he couldn’t use one of his own legs properly anymore. Thundercracker was even able to remember the exact response he’d had to it then too.

‘It’s nothing to be sorry about.’

Although this time, the words were soft with his own uncertainty and the mental distraction provided by his thoughts. Just how was he going to figure out what his last foray had done to his remaining memories? In retrospect, going back for another try was the wrong move - it would only serve to further entangle reality with the make-believe. Without realising it, he could influence Bumblebee via this memory and any subsequent ones in less direct ways, and never know for sure if it was his improvising at the Citadel that had brought it all into fruition.

This notion became apparent when, a little more comfortable, likely from the tone of Thundercracker’s voice, Bumblebee drew closer earlier than he had done in the original memory. Again, it was to rest one hand on the edge of the repair slab, his damaged leg bent at the knee, his cane more of a decoration as he struggled to get used to it.

‘Still,’ Bumblebee then said, humoured, ‘you had quite the set-up in there…’

With the threat of catching his smile from him, Thundercracker looked away once more. He tapped his foot, a small relief for the nerves bouncing around within.

‘I’ll replace them,’ he managed.

‘Right. You can’t miss any of your shows. What’s that one called? The one you like most? _Nurse Whitney_?’

‘Enough.’

The resulting pause in the conversation gave Thundercracker time to really think his situation through. It was easy to forget that there was a world outside of these walls. That in this peculiar recreation of an event long-gone, to the other party, it was a real moment in time. The other Autobots weren’t apparitions to Bumblebee. They were as real as the pain in his leg joint, as real as the impending return to Cybertron. Every sensation was real, every thought, every feeling. Until the timer on the machine ran out, until this moment ended and ceased to exist, Thundercracker lamented that every single part of it would be as tangible to Bumblebee, as the slab surface under his hands was to him. It felt impossible that this wouldn’t have some kind of outward effect, and he felt stupid for not realising it earlier.

Still, he had to wait for clear evidence to know for sure. If he could manage it, he had to hear firsthand from Bumblebee himself about his own experiences at the Citadel all of those years ago.

‘So why did you call for me again?’ the Autobot prompted. ‘Probably not to talk about the humans’ television schedule.’

‘It’s tempting,’ Thundercracker said, ‘but not exactly.’

This was about as far as he had considered. In truth, he wasn’t sure of what to say now that the opportunity was in front of him, or what to do. Luckily, Bumblebee was patient. He shifted a little, uncomfortable with pain, but studied Thundercracker expectantly.

At a loss, Thundercracker decided to get straight to the point.

‘I’ve been thinking about… certain things that have happened. You know. From the past.’

Bumblebee’s expression softened with concern. He remained silent, likely waiting for an appropriate time to air his own thoughts, but it took Thundercracker so long to work up to his next sentence that he was forced to intervene.

‘What things?’

Thundercracker had to look off to the side as he spoke, afraid of what he was about to dredge up.

‘Do you remember Zeta Prime…? What he did…?’

‘Of course,’ Bumblebee said. ‘Hot Rod - I mean... _Rodimus_ … Well, he lost everyone because of that.’

The wavering in Bumblebee’s tone between irritation and empathy was unmistakable. Even at his worst, his best still shone through. At the time, Thundercracker had known little about the tense politics between the members of Optimus’ High Command, and the controversy of Hot Rod’s hold over the Matrix. Hindsight made the cause of Bumblebee’s mood all too clear.

‘Right,’ said Thundercracker in an attempt to divert the topic, ‘but that’s not what I… I wanted to talk more specifically about what we - the Decepticons, that is - did to all of you and -’

Bumblebee shook his head. ‘What good would talking about _that_ do?’

‘If you would just listen -’

‘What did you _really_ call me here for?’ Bee pressed. ‘Are you… struggling with guilt? Is that it? Because I can’t absolve you of that. Nobody can do that but _you_.’

‘I just want to check that my memory of it is the same as yours,’ said Thundercracker, his voice raising with his temper.

Glowering, Bumblebee made an effort to keep his tone even. ‘Well, Ratchet told me once that memories are _subjective_. So what _point_ is there to comparing them?’

‘All memories have a point, Bumblebee,’ said Thundercracker, patience thinning. ‘How else would you know who and what to stay away from?’

He drummed his fingers on the side of the repair slab in a bid to keep his ire under control. Of course the direct approach hadn’t worked. He’d never met a ‘bot less inclined to dwell on the past than Bumblebee. Thundercracker should have known this about him more than anyone, given how eager he had been to turn their status as enemies, into a mutual friendship. In fact, he would bet very few Decepticons would be safe from the little yellow Autobot’s need to forgive and forget. No matter their role in the attacks on Earth and everything before.

‘If that _is_ all memories are for,’ Bumblebee said tentatively, ‘then I wouldn’t be here now, would I?’

Thundercracker turned to look at him, the casing around his spark tightening. Was he about to get his answer?

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know exactly what I mean.’

Bumblebee averted his optics once the words were out. He shifted uncomfortably, and Thundercracker couldn’t tell if it was due to the pain in his damaged leg joint, or because of the unspoken confirmation he had just shared. Their brief time together in the Citadel; did this Bumblebee remember it?

Thundercracker’s insides were reeling. If the original memory hadn’t already been repulsive enough, it was now replaced with something much worse. The first time, he learnt, through the thickness of the door, the exact kind of sounds Bumblebee made whilst in distress. Now, he could not forget how ready the smaller Autobot had been to accept something as dire as forced interfacing. With _him_ as the enforcer. He had wanted this memory to be good. An improvement on the original one. Not _worse_. But they were both ruined. Everything that had ever been was ruined.

Thundercracker noticed Bumblebee was turned towards the door, as if eager to leave. Spark aching, it was all he could do to keep himself from looking for something to hit in temper. Bitter, Thundercracker could not even curb his own spitefulness.

‘Then why _are_ you here?’

Bumblebee flinched at the sharpness of his tone. ‘Because you asked for me.’

He was able to keep his voice flat. Could keep his emotions in check. Yet Thundercracker was almost shaking with his own anger. It was worming its way around his circuits. His fingers were curling into his palms.

‘I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t.’

Unusually, Bumblebee didn’t have a sharp-tongued retort. Not straight away. His shoulders slumped, his door wings bending down with them. Although he was being whipped by his own guilt, Thundercracker could not work an apology past the vibrating thrum of shame that seized him. Having had time to think, Bumblebee summoned a humourless sound from his vocoder.

‘Thundercracker, what you need to understand,’ he said, bowing his head, ‘is that you won’t be able to accept forgiveness from others until you learn to forgive yourself.’

Bumblebee’s grip on the berth then slackened. The conversation was over.

‘Wait,’ Thundercracker said

He was choking on his own surging displeasure. His need for closure had culminated to this point. It was like he was crash-landing. The only way was down, further down. Better to take whatever he could with him on the way, than to fall into it blindly. Because this, he realised, would be the last time they would ever meet. If he could not use the machine for fear of changing the past, then as soon as the timer ran out in this memory, he would be stuck in the present again. Bumblebee would be dead. Everything unspoken between them, would stay that way. Forever.

Kicked with adrenaline, Thundercracker reached out. He took Bumblebee by the wrist, halting him before he could make a move for the door. A gentle tug was enough to convince him to stop.

‘Don’t leave,’ Thundercracker said. ‘Not yet.’

‘I’ve already wasted enough time…’

‘Please,’ Thundercracker urged. ‘I have to tell you something.’

Bumblebee drew back, unsure. But Thundercracker would not let go. This prompted Bumblebee to lean forwards, in the way a human might to hear a hushed tone. Still caught at the wrist, his free hand was clamped to his cane.

‘Tell me what?’ he acquiesced.

‘Would you trust me?’ Thundercracker checked first. ‘If I asked you to come closer?’

They were already close to one another. The separation between them was an acceptable amount of personal space, even with Thundercracker holding him by the arm. But Bumblebee’s need to please won out. He gave a nod of a consent, and Thundercracker slackened his grip. Bumblebee again held onto the edge of the repair bed. He slid his hand along it until he almost brushed Thundercracker’s thigh with his fingers. Thundercracker’s leg jerked in response, knees parting to create a space between them, which Bumblebee moved into cautiously.

‘What is it?’ he asked, looking up at him.

‘I…’

Although he prized himself as a writer, Thundercracker felt there were no words that could express what he wanted to say.

_I never wanted you to leave._ Not enough. _I shouldn’t have let you leave._ Still, not enough.

With a tentative motion, he lifted his hand. Bumblebee glanced at his raised fingers. A flicker of a look, so quick it might not have even happened.

‘Uh,’ he faltered. ‘Thundercracker…’

‘I’m not,’ he attempted, his vocoder clawed and thickening. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

‘I know,’ Bumblebee said.

His expression was set into one of determination. Despite what must have been a thousand different types of warning alerts inside of his head, he didn’t move an inch. Thundercracker dared to put the palm of his hand to the side of Bumblebee’s face. Gently, he rubbed his thumb back and forth just under his left optic. Trying to decipher the meaning behind Bumblebee’s lack of movement, in the resolution of his stare.

Indecision, or inclination? Patience, or want?

As if in answer, Bumblebee tilted his head against Thundercracker’s palm, a soft whirring denoting his pleasure. But his optics held emotion incongruent with his body language. It was as if all of his insecurity was welled there. That tiny hint of uncertainty put an edge to him that Thundercracker was aching to ease. Taut with the apprehension, he shivered. Then ducked his head, passing his thumb over Bumblebee’s mouth.

Bumblebee parted his lips, a noise of wonderment the reward. Sighing, Thundercracker began with soft, brush-like kisses. He cupped Bumblebee’s face, hunger growing as their tongues met. They were so close, their chest platings chafing, but not close enough. On his tiptoes, Bumblebee was anchoring himself with one hand to Thundercracker’s shoulder. The other was still gripping his cane, his arm trembling. Systems running hot, wanting to erase any gaps between them, Thundercracker brought his left knee under the crook of Bumblebee’s right arm to press against his waist.

His aid dropped to the floor with a clatter.

‘Ah, Thundercracker,’ Bumblebee murmured, clamping his palm to his leg.

Thundercracker moaned, the sound of his own name being uttered like that pulling at his already aching array. He dipped to nip at the smoothness of Bumblebee’s neck, feeling a yank to his shoulder. Whimpering, Bumblebee traced his hand further up Thundercracker’s thigh.

‘I can’t,’ he said, as if struggling. ‘I’m gonna...’

‘Oh,’ Thundercracker hummed. 'Already?'

He tried to lean back, but Bumblebee was still tugging at him, hard.

‘No,’ he said, sounding flushed. ‘I mean - I’m _falling_ -’

His injured knee buckled the second he put his weight on it. Little huffs of pleasure were cut into by a sharp cry. Thundercracker froze up, caught between shock, and the rush of his unsated urges. As he ducked to help, Bumblebee heaved himself upright, still gripping his leg for support. They clashed heads, a starburst of light and dull pain interrupting Thundercracker’s vision.

He grimaced, Bumblebee’s gentle gasp and the apologies that chased it so distant it was hard to focus. A sharp twinge that felt like it could have split his brain module in two made him realise what had happened, albeit belatedly.

The next thing his optics registered was the metal plating of his very own machine. His limbs were locked rigid even after the restraints on the bed snapped open. Overexerted, his intakes were breathing hard, a sickening sense of desire lingering at his core. All of the connectors on his helmet popped free. Turning to look around the capsule, Thundercracker noticed a haze of smoke drifting out of the anchoring bed’s back compartment. For a moment, he considered letting the motherboards and intricate wiring go up in flames. What good would come of going back another time?

The questioned persisted as he got to a stand. It was what he asked himself, over and over, as he pried the precious device free. And it haunted him, in every moment he worked on repairing it thereafter.

 

* * *

 

‘Wow,’ he heard Marissa say from somewhere behind him. ‘You Cybertronians work quickly. Wasn’t this a pile of junk on the floor not that long ago?’

Thundercracker turned to greet her, Buster sprinting from some corner of the room, happy to see a new face. She ran at Marissa’s legs, tail wagging and tongue-lolling as she happily accepted ear scratches.

‘Or maybe you organics sleep too much,’ Thundercracker said.

Marissa crouched on the floor, rubbing Buster’s tummy.

‘Or conversely, you don’t sleep enough.’

She grinned, prompting Thundercracker to return with amusement in kind.

‘Listen,’ Marissa then said, gesturing to his half-finished creation. ‘I know we invited you to this base to keep you safe and as… a _home_. But you can’t start building things, and expect us to not want to know what it is you’re building.’

‘It’s not Cybertronian technology,’ he assured her.

He was not sure whether to be impressed or disappointed in himself, with how quickly the lie had rolled off his tongue. But the source of the creation had to remain a secret. Not just because he doubted his own - and Marissa's - ability to keep the technology contained; Jetfire had given him information from the Ark-7 in good faith. None of the Autobots could find out what he had  _really_ used it for. They had interfered in his life enough. This was his business, and he would deal with it himself, even if pre-written theories and abandoned blueprints could only take him so far.

As Marissa stood up, she folded her arms. Buster was lying at her feet, wondering where all of the attention had gone.

‘But what is it exactly?’ she asked. ‘It’s a bit... big. Are you supposed to sit inside of that? Are you building a craft for yourself?’

Thundercracker paused deliberately, allowing the silence to state the obvious for her. Even if the nature of the invention wasn’t clear from the first look, he at least didn’t think he’d done such a bad job that it could be mistaken for a _craft_. Not to mention that he could fly. And he was sure Marissa understood his reluctance to return to Cybertron, so it’s not like he would be building anything space-worthy.

‘It’s art,’ he eventually said, huffed.

‘Oh?’ Marissa smirked. ‘You’ve progressed onto art now?’

‘Sculpture-making, yes.’

He lifted a large panel from the floor, ready to fix it to the side of his _sculpture_ , until the lack of a response from her forced him to turn around again. Marissa was stood with her arms still crossed over her chest, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

‘Well, I have to find something to do,’ Thundercracker said. ‘And until I hear back about my screenplay -’

At this, Marissa rolled her eyes, cutting him off with a show of her palm. ‘So what are you going to do with this… _art_ when it’s finished then? Send that off somewhere too?’

Thundercracker considered his choice of responses for a moment. In truth, he didn’t know what humans did with their sculptures. Display them in places, of course, but how they went from the studio to the place-of-display was a mystery to him. With no details to commit to the lie, he figured honesty would be better instead.

‘I’m not sure. I haven’t looked into it yet. It’s early days.’

‘Yeah,’ Marissa scoffed, ‘I suppose it is.’

Distracted by her phone again, Thundercracker took the break in the conversation as an excuse to get back to his own work. There had been plenty of internal back-and-forth over whether he should abandon the project altogether. Irreparable changes had already been made. But if he quit whilst he was ahead, those changes could be dismissed. Bumblebee was gone. And with him, all of his memories. All Starscream might remember of the Citadel was an interrogation gone wrong. At most, Megatron might have beat him for the failure, but that had happened so many times, Thundercracker didn’t suppose his fellow Seeker would isolate the recollection as significant. Besides, Starscream was on Cybertron. And Thundercracker was on Earth. He had no inclination of speaking to the other two thirds of his trine ever again. The memories he had interfered with were as good as dead.

Yet, he could barely recharge at night, without waking, either seized with an aching core, or shivering in revulsion. The things that were morally deemed the most wrong, nearly always felt overwhelmingly right. Using his invention again would be too easy. And what would be the harm in  _one_ more trip? If he could just control the amount of time he was inside a memory for, he would only need one last attempt to finish everything he had started. His explorations had brought something to his attention at least. The timer was not working as it should have been. On the two occasions he had used the device, his time there had been cut short. Maybe he couldn't figure out the why, but using the instructions and academic discussions he already had access to thanks to Jetfire, he could do his best to work up a temporary fix. How complicated could adjusting a timer really be? It only had to work once, after all. Then that was it. He would be done with this for good.

‘I’ve got to get going,’ he heard Marissa call from by the doorway.

‘Where to?’ Thundercracker asked.

‘I have to keep some secrets around here, you know,’ she said, hands on her hips. ‘Just keep your comm lines open in case I need you for something.’

‘Okay,’ he said.

Buster had followed after Marissa, tail up, head cocked to the side in confusion as the door slid shut. Now would be as good a time as any to give the machine another spin. There were other personnel around the EDC base, but unless Marissa was there to coordinate them all, they seldom found themselves in the same room as him. In fact, one of the few things Thundercracker liked about the base at all was the lack of interruption to his personal time and space.

‘Hey, Buster,’ he called. ‘Come here.’

Upon hearing her name, the little dog turned around, her ears lifting to the sound of her food dish being picked up from the floor. It was very small, so Thundercracker had to pinch it between his fingers with minimal pressure to avoid breaking what would now be a third replacement. In fact, everything the organics on earth had seemed unnecessarily tiny. Even just tipping Buster’s food bag and aiming to fill the dish to the line Marissa had drawn on it felt like a fine art. As usual, several of the biscuits hit the ground and, anticipating this, Buster was there to hoover them up excitedly.

‘There,’ he said, setting the ceramic bowl onto the floor. As she ate, Thundercracker nudged her back, petting her. ‘I promise I won’t be gone for long.’

He knew she couldn’t understand his every word, or concepts such as time, but he felt guilty for leaving her all the same. His body might not leave the compound as he traversed his memories, but his mind did, and he was sure Buster could tell the difference between him _being_ there, in all senses of the state, and not. So whilst she was distracted with food, Thundercracker approached the capsule and shut himself inside. As expected, her snuffling and crunching came to a stop. He attached himself to the upright bed - the base that kept him still during the process - all to the high-pitched, mournful sound of Buster’s whining. Once all of the nodes were secured to his helmet, he relaxed, and tried this time to pick, to really focus, on a specific destination in his memories...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a lot of connection issues, so I am sorry that this update is late. It has given me time to think about this piece and how there are quite big structural problems with it. I have tried to fix them as best I can. All I can really do now is continue to upload this until it's finished, and then hope things I write in the future are improved as a result. Thank you to everyone who is reading, and for the nice comments, and the Kudos so far. It really means a lot... I'm still learning, and the feedback really helps.

The wall of the capsule became a vast window, through which Thundercracker could see the city of Kaon standing stark against a starless horizon. He looked down at his hands, at his body. His design was outdated, nothing like what he expected to see.

He turned around to take in the room. Skywarp was sitting not too far away from him, watching holo-vids on a flimsy-looking datapad. They were almost mirror images of each other, aside from their respective colour schemes. There were other Decepticons around, each nursing wounds and hurt prides. This drew Thundercracker’s attention to a soreness pulling at his own frame. The thrum of over-exertion he felt after a battle, or a very long flight.

‘What are you staring at?’

Thundercracker adjusted his optics, bringing Skywarp into focus. He approached, eager to work out the exact _when_ of where he was.

‘Have you heard something?’ Skywarp asked as he drew closer.

‘No,’ said Thundercracker cautiously.

This was another moment that had eroded over time. Hopefully, Skywarp would remember as little about this meeting in the present, as Thundercracker could remember now in reliving it.

It was then Skywarp got up from his seat. Leaning in close, he cast a nervous glance around the room before speaking.

‘I think Starscream is keeping secrets from us, brother.’

Thundercracker withdrew a step, inner mechanisms tightening. ‘What makes you think that?’

That seemed like a safe enough question. Like something he might have asked initially.

‘He told us Lord Megatron was being taken care of,’ Skywarp said, ‘but Shockwave is alone in his laboratory, and Soundwave isn’t... anywhere.’

‘When did you see Starscream last?’ Thundercracker hedged.

Dropping the datapad onto the low desk by his seat, Skywarp folded his arms and frowned. ‘Very funny, Thundercracker.’

‘Uh. Thanks?’

Skywarp scowled harder, to which Thundercracker made a show of nursing a ‘headache’. For all he knew, they could have spoken to Starscream just moments ago. He was floundering, seized with worry at what his actions right now were doing to Skywarp’s living memories. This return was meant to make things  _less_ complicated, not worse.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Must’ve taken a heavy hit in our last fight…’ With another check around the room to confirm his assumptions, he added, ‘Because… that’s what we were just doing, right? Fighting…?’

‘You should know,’ Skywarp bit. ‘Those idiot Autobot fliers shot us down. If it wasn’t for them, the Citadel would still be ours.’

‘The Citadel,’ Thundercracker stated.

His circuits heated with irritation. Why? Why did he keep ending up here, of all times? The repairs on the machine should have worked… Jetfire’s data stores had been more forthcoming than he had dared himself to hope. He was following the instructions and information in those logs to the letter. His fiddling with the timer surely couldn’t have affected where he was going to end up. So what was going wrong?

‘Starscream told us to wait here,’ he could hear Skywarp saying. ‘Said he wanted to be _alone_ with Scorponok. Whatever that means.’

With the benefit of hindsight, Thundercracker knew exactly what Starscream wanted with Scorponok. Believing Megatron had been felled, they were going to throw what they thought was his lifeless husk onto Junkion. Thundercracker was just pleased he would not be around upon Megatron’s return. Or during Scorponok’s clumsy and needlessly violent reign, however short-lived. Yes, he had altered the timer, but it was not going to run for _that_ long. At least… he _hoped_.

Skywarp was watching him very carefully, a slight frown narrowing his optics.

‘Must’ve been some hit,’ he said, tapping the side of his own helmet in emphasis.

He ducked to pick up his datapad, and Thundercracker, unsure of what to say, swept a glance around the odd structure that was Kolkular. Standing high over Kaon, the fortress had been almost like a home for him. Especially in the early days of the war.

Even though he and his Seekers spent time together before the conflict started, there was a nicer, almost familial feeling to this arrangement. Having met at the Jhiaxian Academy, for a time, Skywarp was just someone he happened to share an alt-mode in common with. And for all Starscream had recruited them and remoulded them, he was a senator, with grander things to do, and other, more important people to see. It wasn’t until they became more involved in the Decepticon movement that their bonds cemented themselves.

In fact, if there was only one thing Thundercracker missed about those days, it was feeling like he was _part_ of something. But that was what the humans would call looking at the past through ‘rose-tinted’ optics. Whilst there had been _good_ times, there were just as many bad and uncomfortable times to drown those nostalgic feelings out.

‘I’m being serious,’ Skywarp said. ‘I swear you’re going binary.’

Thundercracker’s spark dipped in pulse.

 _You’re acting really_ weird.

 _You know exactly what I mean_.

He was almost tempted to ask Skywarp to elaborate, but he was not here to be reminded of his blunders at the Citadel. In fact, he was not meant to be here at all.

‘I’m, uh, gonna take a walk,’ Thundercracker said, gesturing to the door with his thumb.

‘But Starscream told us to wait here,’ said Skywarp.

‘I will,’ he said, already walking away. 'I'll be around; don’t worry.’

‘As if I’d bother,' he heard Skywarp drawl. 'But you better get back here before Starscream does, or he'll -’

Thundercracker quickened his pace until he was in the adjacent corridor, where Skywarp’s ranting became nothing but muffled noise. The disorientation was worse this time. A high-pitched whine cut into his audio receptors, his vision fuzzing around the edges. Perhaps his tweaking had caused problems additional to the ones he had intended to solve. Last time he was at the Citadel, about to hear Bumblebee being tortured, he had worried that he would be stuck there forever. That his lack of understanding for the technology he was dealing with would permanently sever his mind from his body.

How could he think that risk no longer existed? He was trusting blindly in the stores Jetfire had given him access to. Betting that the ‘bots who knew the science, who had run the calculations and drawn up the designs, would have thought to worry on his behalf.

Leaning back against the nearest wall, Thundercracker worked at calming himself down. Why had the timer failed? He didn’t _know_ , but he could guess. So why had it failed? Clumsy circuitry? No, when he took it apart, the fused components hadn’t damaged those areas. And his soldering, whilst it could be better, was at least decent enough to maintain all of the right connections.

An inherent flaw in the programming then. Something the scientists hadn’t managed to iron out. The device was only supposed to allow him free reign in his memories. Say he were to step out of bounds… do as he had done in his last two trips, and go against what was already written…? Maybe that was triggering the early ejection. Maybe, to cut the time short, he had to unpick and reathread his recollections into something new.

The only problem was, to get free with that method, he would have to cause more damage by going places, doing things, and saying things he had not gone, done, or said before. This last attempt was supposed to be contained to his own memory, and Bumblebee’s… One of them was dead, and Thundercracker had no plans to tell anybody what he was getting up to. That would assure any changes would fail to affect anything in reality.

Although, walking away from Skywarp was not too big of an interference, Thundercracker told himself. It wasn’t a _huge_ change. If he could just make sure he did not engage with anybody else, that would minimise the chance of him causing any more serious deviations. And in the meantime, he could push his memory to its limits by leaving Kolkular altogether. That was bound to terminate the programme before the timer could run its course.

All going to plan, everything around him would diminish. After all, how could he traverse places in a memory that he had not been there to see?

Thundercracker knew the hallways and rooms well enough to find a window he could leave through. He made sure to pick somewhere out of the way in case Skywarp took it upon himself to follow.

Although he could still fly on earth, he had forgotten what it felt like to soar Cybertronian skies. In an environment he was perfectly built for, and did not have to adapt to. He weaved in and out of Kaon’s spires, gaining altitude, expecting the memory to cut off at any moment. When nothing happened, he left the district altogether. Out of the window, where the memory had started, Thundercracker had been able to see a lot of Kaon after all. Maybe he had to go further, to places he was not supposed to be able to see.

Decepticon-held territories gave out to neutral ground. Everything looked clean and _real_. Crisp, the edges defined, as if he were speeding through a simulator and not a recreation of a time long past. Dread needled against his insides as he came to recognise the battle-charred high rises of Iacon, smouldering under dispersing smoke.

Thundercracker slowed his pace. Soothed himself, believing that the machine he had cobbled together was now just rolling archived footage of scenery he had flown through thousands of times before. These had to be recycled images, things he could only remember because he had fought the battle in Iacon. He was seeing the place in ruins because he had been one of the ones to ruin it. That had to be it. That was what he told himself.

Until Metroplex’s large, bulky form rose up on the horizon, embedded between Iacon’s finer structures.

Little sparkling lights beaded the glass towers. Lining the alleyways, they lent a muted glow to the ruined buildings spewing rubble in the streets. The city was cold, groaning with injury. Thundercracker hovered above the wreckages, shock seeping into his circuits. Tiny, like little ants hauling dirt, were crews of Autobots moving the bodies of those most recently felled.

Before Thundercracker could even begin to theorise about their existence in what was strictly supposed to be his own headspace, a dull beeping coloured his vision red. Panicked, he broke out of his alt form, activating his thrusters so he could stay afloat. The noise accelerated, his spark pulsing to the rhythm. He turned sharply, realising the source of the alert too late.

A missile was cutting through the sky towards him.

Jolted, Thundercracker instinctively tried to avoid the attack with a sharp swerve to the left. But he was too slow. The projectile clipped his right wing, knocking him off balance mid-dive. Out of the sky, a flier emerged.

‘I’ve got him,’ he heard a familiar voice say. ‘He’s hit.’

The Autobot transformed, taking the shape of who Thundercracker knew to be Jetfire. Weapon raised, he aimed to take another shot.

‘It’s a Decepticon Seeker,’ he was saying into his comm. ‘Converge on my position.’

Thundercracker was frozen with indecision. How was this happening? Would speaking make things worse? If he let himself be shot to death, would it affect his real body, trapped in the capsule at the EDC base?

Jetfire swept towards him, stiff and uncertain, inexperienced in battle. But in war he would always be a flier first, and whatever else second.

Alarmed, desperate to be back in his body, Thundercracker transformed. He built up to his maximum speed before Jetfire could copy him, striking for the horizon, as fast as a bullet. He wanted the night to peel from around him, for Iacon, smoking and wilting, to drop right out from under his visual range. Instead, everything stood solid. If Jetfire was in pursuit, he was far enough behind for Thundercracker to not be able to sense him anymore.

To avoid detection from any other fliers, he landed abruptly, dropping himself out of the sky. A sharp pain sliced into his knee joints once his weight hit the floor. Staggering, Thundercracker clung to the shadows. There, between the leaning husks of infrastructure, sat the transformed Titan, Metroplex, serving as the Citadel’s replacement.

Thundercracker sank down, his spark feeling stretched, as if it might burst right out of his chassis. His optics blurred, a soft fuzz speckling his vision. With relief, he rubbed his fingers across his faceplate, expecting that he was going to see the walls of his capsule cascade down in front of him. That, finally, the memory would unravel, having nothing from which to thread itself.

Instead, a movement set off his proximity alarm. An Autobot, too preoccupied to notice him, was busy clearing away some bodily remains. He cut across the mouth of the alley, vanishing as quickly as he had appeared.

‘It’s fine,’ Thundercracker muttered to himself. ‘This is… all fine. It’s going to be fine.’

He reached around to feel the damage to his right wing. With some internal rerouting, he was able to dull the sting a little. Shivering, he scooted back into the doorway of what looked to be a boarded-up bar. From where he sat, he could see the main entrance and exit into Metroplex’s daunting, city-sized form. A sporadic stream of figures left and entered the building, the moments clicking into seconds, then minutes, then… Thundercracker brought his knees up to his chest, hands clamped to either side of his helmet. Surely, this could not go on for _hours_.

‘Of course _you_ would say that.’

Fright pulled Thundercracker upright. Two Autobots had just rounded the corner. They stopped, small under Metroplex’s imposing range behind them. Both of them were very similar in shape and size, Thundercracker noticed.

‘Alright, fine,’ said one, voice so familiar that Thundercracker couldn’t help but watch. ‘Dai Atlas wasn’t happy, but at least the Convocation is in place. I’m almost sure it’ll work. But these things take time, Cliffjumper, and -’

‘Is that you speaking from experience?’

Cliffjumper’s tone sounded mean-spirited, but the other did not seem upset by it.

‘I have faith in Optimus,’ came the reply. ‘He’s right about everyone needing to work together.’

‘You don’t just have _faith_ in Optimus, Bee, you have a soft spot for him,’ Cliffjumper interrupted. ‘You’re forgetting that not everyone else sees him the way you do.’

Hidden under the darkness afforded by Iacon’s towering structures, Thundercracker leaned forwards to see better. _Bee_ … That was Bumblebee? Under the glow from a nearby lamp, the small Autobot looked dented and roughed-up. A little slack with tiredness. Thundercracker’s vocoder warmed with the urge to speak his name. To get his attention. In a bid to deter himself, he instead pressed a palm to his mouth, observing quietly.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Bumblebee was asking. ‘You don’t think Optimus is a true Prime?’

‘I never said that,’ Cliffjumper snipped. ‘I’m talkin’ about _others_ who don’t. Line up your crosshairs just right, and you can get rid of suckers like Dai Atlas in just a single -’

‘No,’ Bumblebee cut in disapprovingly. ‘Stop right there. The last thing we need is more violence.’

‘Jeez, Bee.’ A gruff noise of discontentment fuzzed from Cliffjumper’s vocoder. ‘Where’d you lose your sense of humour?’ He then lifted his hand in a vague gesture of goodbye. ‘Well, whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Sure,’ Bumblebee said, downcast, faltering. ‘I have some council meetings and then maybe -’

Cliffjumper had been about to head off, but he paused briefly. ‘Oh, the _council_ meetings,’ he said. ‘Maybe next time we meet, you’ll be gunning for Prime yourself.’

‘Come off it,’ said Bumblebee. ‘You could get involved. In fact, you _should_.’

This earned him a shove as Cliffjumper walked past him. ‘Nuh uh,’ he said. ‘The only thing I’m getting involved in right now is my habsuite, back in what’s left of where I used to live. You know where to find me if your place was hit.’

‘Yeah, thanks,’ said Bumblebee, ‘but I think I’ll try the ground outside first.’

Cliffjumper laughed aloud. ‘Suit yourself.’

He disappeared behind the rightmost buildings. Bumblebee stared after him, and didn’t move until - or so Thundercracker guessed - his friend was completely out of sight.

Watching him gave Thundercracker an ache that he couldn’t quite place. Somehow, Bumblebee looked smaller than usual. Vulnerable. Already a ghost. To think he would live and die believing in Optimus Prime’s vision, with nothing to show for it but a hole in his chest. Thundercracker looked down at his own palms, considering the possibilities of the device that had brought him here.

This was not a memory anymore. So then, was it an imagination? Something completely fabricated and made-up? Was everything around him a product of his own mind, and thus, unreal? Was Bumblebee even real? Had he ever been real at all?

Thundercracker was pulled from his thoughts as Bumblebee began to walk down the alleyway towards him. Ambling, as though in no great hurry, his expression touched with worry. Retreating further against the building at his back, Thundercracker hoped the darkness would conceal him. That his inner systems were not whirring too loudly. Bumblebee was about to draw level with him.

This had to be a fabrication. What were the odds that he would stumble across Bumblebee _here_ , in a memory that did not even exist? It felt orchestrated. Even if this was not where Thundercracker had wanted to be, he could not deny how desperate he had been just to see him. So much so, that one second could have stretched out into a thousand. Fixated on him, Thundercracker went numb. Without a second glance, Bumblebee passed him by.

He wondered how long he would have to sit in the same place before the Autobot crossed him again. Would the dawn rise, and bring Bumblebee back to Metroplex via the same route? Or would the environment conspire to bring them together earlier than that? Would Bumblebee walk around him in circles until Thundercracker broke the loop by interacting with him?

Curious, Thundercracker got up. He just wanted to see how far he could follow Bumblebee, to see if he had a destination in mind after all. But his footsteps, and the slight compression of his joints in movement drew attention. Bumblebee stiffened, whipping around to scour the area, fingers inches from the blaster he had attached to his hip.

Thundecracker put up his hands in surrender. ‘Don’t shoot.’

Naturally, this prompted Bumblebee to aim the weapon in his direction. In those few seconds, he had likely adjusted his vision, and could probably see him despite the low light.

‘S-Starscream?’ he said.

Although Bumblebee was scowling, his hands were shaking, the blaster rattling a little between his palms.

Thundercracker shifted with discomfort at the mistake. Hands still up, he stepped out into the street to reveal his identity. Bumblebee countered this with a quick retreat.

‘Come any closer, and you’ll be sorry,’ he warned.

He gripped the gun tighter, the tremor in his fingers lessening. Thundercracker took a moment to observe.

Why would Bumblebee fear Starscream more than him?

Again, his optics felt strained, a blur softening the edges of everything in his sight. Waiting to be pulled back into reality, Thundercracker held his ground, and kept his palms in clear view. He stiffened, anticipating the brain-fizzing sensation that accompanied each transition out of wherever this was meant to be, and into the capsule in the EDC base.

Nothing happened.

Bumblebee quirked his head to the side, blue optics burning with suspicion.

‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ Thundercracker said lamely.

What else was he supposed to say? _Keep walking, I don’t think any of this is real?_

‘Yeah, right,’ Bumblebee said. ‘And my name’s Megatron. What else would you be doing here?’

He directed a glance around himself, perhaps looking for any one who might be able to help. Or at least to confirm that what he was seeing was accurate: a lone ‘Decepticon’, skulking around the recesses of Iacon. And not just any Decepticon. One of the main players. A known face in Megatron’s trine of Seekers, who had goaded Ironhide at the Citadel, and acted in the betrayal after Orion Pax’s disappearance.

‘Did you get left behind?’ Bumblebee ventured, relaxing his stance. ‘Seems like something your kind would do -’

‘No,’ Thundercracker interrupted, despite the truth of it.

Maybe he had not been left behind at this point in time, but it would happen eventually. Not that it mattered. That was over now. And he had greater concerns. Bumblebee looked alert enough, but Thundercracker expected… more from him. More fear, maybe. Greater uncertainty.

Not too far away from this moment, he had dragged Bumblebee into an interrogation chamber and pinned him to the floor. Yet Bumblebee was showing no wariness of their close proximity. And the moment he had ascertained this was not Starscream before him, his hands had stopped shaking.

‘You don’t recognise me, do you?’ Thundercracker checked.

He had been so eager for them to meet again, but... not like this.

The street was quiet, the night prevailing. Those who weren’t dead, were resting, or keeping vigil over unprocessed remains. Hovering high up in the sky, waiting for the next attack. Nervously navigating the calm before the next storm. If Bumblebee hadn’t been disturbed before, it was an emotion certainly captured in his expression now.

‘No,’ he said, tone paced with caution. Slowly, he motioned to return the blaster to its holster. ‘Should I…?’

A rush of air passed overhead, followed by the unmistakable chafe of a transformation cog in action. Thundercracker looked up just in time to see Jetfire about to drop between them. As he landed, he aimed his weapon in one hand, and pushed Bumblebee back a step with the other.

‘Found you,’ he said, towering over Thundercracker. ‘Bumblebee, are you okay? Has he injured you?’

‘I’m fine,’ he said quickly, coming up beside Jetfire. ‘I think he’s alone, and - and _hurt_ -’

‘I know. I fired at him.’

‘What if the Decepticons left him behind?’

‘They didn’t,’ Jetfire said. ‘This one retreated with the rest of the Seekers earlier...’

His voice trailed off into silence, but his mouth was still forming words. All around them, more Autobot fliers descended. Bumblebee was knocked aside, lost in amongst the taller ‘bots as they all advanced. They were soundless, expressions harsh, their movements sharp. Guns pointed at him from all angles, Thundercracker couldn’t watch them all at once. When a shocking pain spliced through his brain module, he thought he had been shot.

Hands forced to the sides of his head, he shut off his optics to the agony of an accumulating, blaring drone. Everything was falling apart. His sparkbeat withered, his frame bowing as though he were about to unravel into strings.

Light burst before his eyes and he reeled, arms and legs weighted and unresponsive. Unable to look anywhere but up, Thundercracker focused on the thin grooves of what looked like panelling. A discoloured white, his optics readjusted, shifting sprinkles of dust into focus before the ceiling loomed ever clearer.

‘Are you alright?’ he heard a female voice say, distorted, as though it were coming from underwater. 'I forgot to... had to come back...'

This was the capsule, he soon realised. He was back in the EDC base. And his mind had been pulled so forcefully from the remnants of his memories, his body hadn’t quite caught up with it. Marissa was in the small compound with him, Buster yapping at her heels.

‘S… Sleeping,’ Thundercracker said sluggishly, ‘I was…’

‘I’ve seen you sleep,’ Marissa said, clearer now. ‘That wasn’t sleeping.’

The restraints that kept Thundercracker fixed upright broke open, and he slid from the angled berth. Taking a step forwards, he was confused to find himself staggering. This was a clumsier recovery than usual, but this had been no ordinary easing in and out of the memory. In disrupting the power, Marissa had wrest him mentally from whatever realm his mind took him to for these fantasies to be reimagined.

He groaned and slumped downwards to kneel, weakened, a faint buzz in his circuits the only thing left of a past that shouldn’t have been allowed to happen.

‘You looked in pain,’ Marissa said, her voice suddenly louder than before, loud enough to shock him. ‘Like you were having a seizure.’

‘Don’t do that again.’

His voice shuddered, his tone severe.

‘This is no sculpture,’ she said, unphased. ‘What is it? What were you doing?’

Frustration festered into annoyance; deliberately ignoring her, Thundercracker set about plucking the nodes from his helmet and got to his feet. He was shaky, his vision distorted with static, but he used the upright slab to support himself as he reached around the back of it.

The wires were fed inside, attached to the main components that made his pseudo-time-travelling possible. All possible thanks to Jetfire’s information stores; a trove of abandoned blueprints and untested codes, the protoforms of theoretical fancy that had been aborted, and with good reason.

He was able to take things apart quicker than he had put them together. Even whilst he scoured his own memory banks, checking for corruptions or inconsistencies. The only problem so far was that his processor was lagging, each internal action tripping behind the next.

Marissa had her eyes on his every move. She stood at his side as he tore away the outer protection of the more delicate mechanisms held within.

‘Now isn’t the time for you to go silent on me,’ she said, voice raised. ‘I want you to explain exactly what this is, right now, or I’m going to confiscate it.’

‘Fine,’ he sniped, ‘you do that.’

With just a gentle pluck, the motherboard he had soldered down popped loose, the wires limp tendrils in his fist as he clutched it like a prize out of Marissa’s reach.

‘Look after Buster for me until I get back.’

She opened her mouth to contest his decision, but with the power in his stride enough to shake the floor and walls around them, it wasn’t long until her words devolved into worried noises and shrill, half-broken commands for him to stop.

Of course, as soon as he was out of the EDC base, he leapt upwards and transformed, already up near the clouds by the time his body had rearranged itself into the tighter, streamlined formation he needed to achieve flight.

With his last base destroyed, there was only one other place he could think to go to. He just had to hope that it was still standing, and as deserted as it had been since he had frequented it last.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go after this... And wow... For me, this fic has been a journey to say the least. It has taught me a lot about what I need to improve and I already can think of a bunch of fixes to make it better if I was ever to go back and rewrite it. I hope still that what I could do with this hasn't been too bad though... Thank you again for the engagement, all of the kindness, and support. It really does mean a lot, and it makes my day to see you guys sharing your thoughts.

Although Thundercracker had vacated the premises years before, the humans were yet to reclaim it. At least beyond tagging it with graffiti and contributing to its slow erosion into the desert sands.

He had boxed up most of the screens when he had left, but those damaged truly beyond repair were still hung, smashed-in and empty on the back wall, or crushed into gnarled pieces on the floor. Wary that it could become reoccupied, that a roving gang of humans could direct their hostility towards him at any moment in what was now unfamiliar territory to him, Thundercracker knew that the sooner he destroyed the invention, the better it would be for everybody. Not because he couldn’t fend the humans off; any attempt would break them too easily. He hadn’t remained on earth to pick fights with the locals, _or_ add to the pile of innocents he wanted left firmly in his past.

He held up the insides of the capsule, the wires and circuits that made everything tick. With minimal effort, he could squeeze it into dust, but his grip weakened. Dropping it to the floor, he lifted up his heel instead. Outside, a gentle breeze scattered sand against the road. There, Thundercracker stood in the darkness of the old brick station, frozen in place, shadows pooling over the floor. All he had to do was grind down his foot.

One stamp, and that would be it.

Over.

 

Above the rushing water, Thundercracker almost didn’t hear the descent. An anaemic moon had cut through the early dusk, the sun still traversing her downward arc. Golden light touched the tree trunks and their leaves, his expected guest a towering silhouette, until he stepped closer, expression stern.

‘Skywarp,’ Thundercracker started. He sought to close the gap between them, hand out in a learned gesture from the humans. ‘If I’m honest, I didn’t think you’d come -’

Skywarp kept his arms firmly down by his sides.

‘Count yourself lucky that I did and leave it at that,’ he said.

Once Thundercracker drew closer, Skywarp took a deliberate step back, maintaining distance. It was a surprise he was on earth at all. Like Soundwave, his fellow Seeker was faultlessly loyal. Either he really had, in all of that time, really agreed with everything Megatron had sanctioned, or he had been too stupid to question the orders. Regardless, he was still a believer. If not in their leader anymore, then in the cause that had united them all so long ago.

‘What is it you want?’ Skywarp asked, tone edged with impatience.

Thundercracker frowned. ‘That’s it?’

‘What else is there?’

‘Right,’ said Thundercracker. ‘I don’t… hold a grudge. If that’s what you think.’

‘I don’t think anything, actually.’

‘Hah. Is that so?’

It took a couple of moments for the joke to fully make sense to Skywarp, his only cue being the smirk that Thundercracker couldn’t keep from his faceplate. In response, Skywarp pushed a growl of frustration through his denta.

‘Hey, your words, not mine,’ said Thundercracker.

‘Just tell me why I’m here so I can _leave_ already,’ he bit back.

His wings twitched, as if he might leap into the air and take off before anything else could be said. On edge, Thundercracker glanced around their surroundings. Other than the tearing waterfall and tired bird calls, there was nothing else to be heard. At least not for Skywarp. Thundercracker’s _own_ internal communications unit was still being hailed. Not just from Marissa at the EDC, but oddly enough, by the Ark-7 too. Assuming the EDC had called in help to track him from the only other Cybertronians they knew how to find, Thundercracker shut off the alerts as fast as they appeared.

However, his uneasiness hadn’t gone unnoticed.

‘I’ve made sure I can’t be tracked,’ Skywarp said, assuaging his worries somewhat. ‘Believe me, I have a human infestation problem of my own to avoid.’

‘You think of them like that?’ Thundercracker ventured.

‘You _don’t_? They’re so... clingy _._ ’ Skywarp brought his hand to the sleek curve of his cockpit, a part of his chest when he was not in his alt-mode. ‘Think they can treat me like one of their Earth vehicles,’ he muttered.

‘Oh, I give Marissa lifts all of the time,’ Thundercracker said without thinking. ‘It means we can arrive at the same place together and -’

Skywarp physically recoiled. ‘That’s disgusting.’ When this failed to provoke a reaction, he added, ‘You’re starting to remind me of why we don’t get along... At this point, you might as well be an Autobot.’

‘I thought the war was supposed to be over,’ Thundercracker said. ‘No sides.’

‘There’s always sides,’ Skywarp pointed out. ‘And you’ve chosen _yours_. If you’ve brought me here to talk about switching, then you can forget it.’

He knocked against Thundercracker with his shoulder, walking towards the edge of the cliff, where the waterfall had cut the land apart.

‘Wait,’ said Thundercracker. ‘This isn’t about sides. I _did_ want to ask you something but not - I don’t care about that anymore. Everything that happened… None of it matters.’

Keeping his back to him, Skywarp clenched his hands into fists. For several minutes, all that existed between them was the spray of the chill water and the day slowly sliding into night.

‘So what?’ Skywarp pressed. ‘You want a favour? Before you ask, you should know I won’t be teleporting you anywhere. I don’t _do_ that right now -’

‘No teleporting,’ Thundercracker said, coming to stand behind him. ‘I just want to pick your brain module about something.’

Skywarp angled to face him, grimacing. ‘You want to _what_?’

‘It’s, uh, a phrase,’ said Thundercracker. ‘Something the humans say…’

‘It sounds horrible,’ Skywarp answered. He gave an involuntary shudder. ‘Is it going to _hurt_?’

‘No,’ Thundercracker said, tone warmed with the urge to laugh. ‘I want you to tell me what you remember about something.’

Nodding in consent, Skywarp put his hands on his hips, and kicked at a loosened rock by his foot.

‘How much easier was that to say?’ he muttered. ‘One extra word.’ Then louder, he added. ‘Go on, then. Ask me.’

‘The Citadel,’ Thundercracker stated, quick to get to the point. ‘In Iacon. Remember when Megatron took it, after he killed - I mean, _thought_ he’d killed Optimus Prime? Except Optimus was called Orion Pax then -’

‘What is this, a history lesson?’ Skywarp cut in. ‘Of course I remember that.’

‘Right, but _how_ do you remember it?’

Skywarp lifted his shoulders in surprise, optics narrowing. ‘I use my memory banks. And you call _me_ the idiot.’

‘No, I mean - the order of events,’ said Thundercracker. ‘How things happened.’

‘You just said that everything that happened doesn’t matter.’

‘But this does.’

He couldn’t _not_ know. It was urgent, absolutely paramount that he found out once and for all what he had been doing. How much of an effect he had made to the real world, in all of his tampering. Before he could do anything with the device, he had to know. And since he couldn’t ask Bumblebee, and had no idea how to get in contact with Starscream, his only other option was Skywarp. He was Thundercracker’s only link to the past. He had been there in more than one of the memories, or the imaginations, or… whatever they were meant to be, _and_ there during the real events, too. They had spoken to one another, interacted. No matter where the future took them, with or without a _machine_ , they would always be irrevocably intertwined. That much was assured.

Perhaps Skywarp could see his desperation, and found it somewhere within himself to take pity. Or perhaps he just wanted to say what had to be said, so he could go back to wherever he called home, and continue pretending they were both comfortably estranged. As detached from each other, as they were now from the past itself.

‘We moved in on The Citadel,’ Skywarp recited, folding his arms over his chest. ‘The Autobots wouldn’t join us, and they were punished for it.’

‘That’s the part I’m stuck on,’ Thundercracker said. ‘The… The punishment part.’

Skywarp’s expression darkened. ‘Really? I didn’t think you were into that sort of thing.’

‘Not like that,’ he said.

There was no way of explaining it without having to bring up his talks with Jetfire, the existence of the machine, the _reason_ he was doing all of this in the first place. So Thundercracker had to be specific in other ways, to get the answers he wanted.

‘Did Starscream…?’ He paused, considering his next words. ‘Megatron asked him to do the torturing, right?’

‘I think so,’ Skywarp said, still watching him suspiciously. ‘I wasn’t there for that.’

‘Do you know if he tortured _all_ of the Autobots?’

‘He shouldn’t have,’ came the reply. ‘Megatron only wanted the scout to get hurt. Well, until he changed his mind. But that’s...' He waved his hand, to dismiss the topic.

‘Changed his mind…?’ Thundercracker prompted.

A flash of irritation crossed Skywarp’s features.

‘You really _are_ clueless, aren’t you? Megatron wears Bumblebee’s badge now. Thinks he’s an Autobot.’

He put his foot over the rock he had dislodged, rolling it under his heel.

‘You know, Seawing and some of the others tried to interrupt the trial. Tried to _help_ him. Soundwave is…’ Skywarp patted his chassis, just over where his spark was situated. ‘I think he’s broken somehow. Not physically, but... Anyway, I nearly _killed_ myself getting Megatron and Bumblebee, and all of those other Autobots over to Shockwave. Do you see him wearing my badge for that? Your badge?’ He gestured to the space where Thundercracker’s Decepticon sigil used to be. ‘ _Our_ badge, Thundercracker? After everything we did -’

Thundercracker looked to the ground, wishing he didn’t have to hear anymore. That his former nemesis was wearing Bumblebee’s Autobot badge was a detail Optimus must have saw fit to leave out when he brought Thundercracker the news. A minor detail to anybody else, he would have thought, but surely the Autobots would notice? There was something almost blasphemous about Megatron, out of all the possible candidates, wearing the very same symbol Bumblebee lived and died for. But then, Thundercracker supposed Bumblebee wouldn’t see it that way. To him, it would be progress. A step towards the kind of society they all wanted to see but were all struggling so much to achieve.

Lifting his foot, Skywarp stomped down on the rock under his heel, splitting it into several smooth chunks. The clunk drew Thundercracker from his reverie.

‘I don’t know what it was about that yellow runt,’ Skywarp was venting, ‘but Megatron seemed to _care_ that he died.’ He then shrugged, the anger in his eyes receding, tone smoothing with satisfaction. ‘Not me, though... I’m glad he’s gone. I _hated_ him. I doubt he was capable of it, but I hope that day in The Citadel, Starscream at least managed to break him a little.’

The words conjured for Thundercracker the image of Bumblebee on some nondescript Iaconian street, under Metroplex’s shadow. His hands shaking, as he mistook one Seeker for the other. He was about to confirm to Skywarp that perhaps Starscream _had_ broken him a little. But that… That wasn’t real. Everything was as it should be. Skywarp’s recollection of past events was in accordance with what Thundercracker knew to have happened. Which meant everything in between, all of the ‘changes’ he had fretted over, had posed no threat after all.

That tender show of fear from Bumblebee was something Thundercracker had merely imagined. Maybe it was just something he had expected to see, and so he had seen it. Along with everything else.

‘Thanks,’ Thundercracker said, the word devoid of any emotion. ‘That’s… You’ve said everything I needed to hear.’

He turned to leave, spark-heavy.

‘Are you serious?’ he could hear Skywarp saying. ‘I came all the way out here for… For _what_ , actually? What was the point in any of this?!’

Shutting off his audio receptors, Thundercracker leapt upwards, and shifted form. The circumstances were different, and there was no sense of achievement for it. But leaving Skywarp behind without answers, without closure, brought the circuit back around the track. It was as good an ending as any, he supposed. At least until they could start again.

 

As soon as he picked up on the signature, Thundercracker turned to glance at the doorway. From what he could tell, it was perpetually left open, the winch damaged, so that when the button was pressed, the metal sheeting didn’t collapse down as it should have. He first saw a pair of legs. Then, peering under, crouching in an attempt to fit, was Jetfire. His white plating shone bright under the glow of the moon.

‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he said.

‘Who told you I was here?’ asked Thundercracker.

He thought for a moment that Skywarp might have followed him out of spite, but if working with humans was something he barely tolerated, Thundercracker could not imagine him making deals with Autobots. Not without good reason, and this - the EDC sending another flier to track him down over a piece of tech they barely understood - would not be a good enough reason.

If Jetfire had not been the one to share the data that created his machine in the first place, Thundercracker might have been surprised about his involvement too. But Jetfire would know if Marissa _had_ made that call to the Ark-7. Without needing any details, he would be able to guess that any technology the EDC talked of, would have to be related to the time travelling data he had loaned out. Although, Thundercracker could not understand why Jetfire would bother making the trip. The machine was useless. It posed no danger. And Thundercracker didn’t want to talk about it.

With any luck, he would be able to push Jetfire away as effectively as he had once pushed Bumblebee away. Indifference was not that hard for him to feign in the presence of the former, at least.

‘Coming here was actually an educated guess,’ Jetfire said, almost able to stand to full height once inside the building.

Thundercracker nodded, relieved that his cloaking had not been cracked. He had made sure to conceal his location from Marissa. Any technology she had at her fingertips designed to find him, he wanted to hit a brick wall until he lifted the veil and announced himself. There was some comfort in knowing that, no matter how much the humans reverse-engineered Cybertronian leftovers, there were still some things they could not comprehend, replicate, or dissect.

‘I may have left with Optimus when Galvatron attacked Cybertron,’ Jetfire explained, ‘but Bumblebee’s friendship with you was the subject of a lot of talk whilst I was here the first time. It wasn’t hard to find you, after I’d checked everywhere else.’

Wincing just at the sound of Bumblebee’s name, Thundercracker showed his wings to Jetfire. He took a seat on the large crate he’d had to leave behind, staring despondently at the floor.

‘You’ll go back to the EDC and tell them you couldn’t find me if you know what’s good for you,’ he said. Jetfire did not immediately respond, so Thundercracker looked over his shoulder to check he had been listening. The threat might have sounded empty, but if he had to come to mean it, he would. ‘I’m not… _rogue_ ,’ he said. ‘I left Buster behind and I’ll have to go back, otherwise -’

‘The EDC didn’t send me here,’ said Jetfire.

Head bowed so he didn’t knock his helmet against the ceiling, he came to stand at Thundercracker’s side. In no mood for conversation or company, Thundercracker turned to look at the far right wall instead.

‘Then Optimus Prime sent you, if we’re being pedantic.’ He reached down to pick up a shard of glass from the floor. ‘Go tell him the same.’

‘Actually,’ said Jetfire, ‘I’m here of my own accord.’

He paused, as if expecting an invitation to continue. Thundercracker ignored him, angling the glass piece until it caught a strip of the moon’s glow from the window over his shoulder.

‘Thundercracker, about the data you were after, on time travelling theory. I… was wondering how much use the information was to you.’

Irritation, tight and painful, fuzzed over Thundercracker’s spark. He pressed the glass between his finger and thumb, where it crumbled into grit.

‘Look,’ he snapped, turning to face him, ‘you don’t have to pretend you’re interested in my work. If this is some ploy you’ve got cooked up with the EDC -’

‘There’s no ploy; I’m not lying!’ Jetfire interrupted, hands up in a soothing gesture. ‘Nobody _ordered_ me here. Why do you think Marissa Faireborn would…? What reason would she…?’

The answers to his questions must have arisen in the moments after. Staring down at his own open palms, Jetfire lifted his chin, staring straight ahead.

‘Oh,’ he sounded. ‘So then… You _did_ succeed.’

Thundercracker stirred. It felt like his spark had just leapt out of its casing.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I... have reason to believe you used the information I gave you for more than just your stories,’ Jetfire said, needing no invitation to divulge. ‘I didn’t have an in-depth look at what I passed on to you. Not until I… Well, how best to explain it.’

He held his chin between his forefinger and thumb.

‘There was an incident some time ago now… One of our scientists - I believe I might have mentioned him to you in passing - had a keen interest in time travel theory. Only he didn’t stop at theories. There were a number of devices he tried his hand at making, in fact. I realised, albeit belatedly, that the blueprints for one of those devices were still held in my stores. It was confiscated, you see.’

‘What has this got to do with me?’ Thundercracker asked carefully.

‘Because the device has a side-effect, and I wouldn’t have recognised it had I not heard experience of it before,’ said Jetfire. ‘The device doesn’t take you back in time, but it _creates_ time in infraspace. Anything you do whilst using the device stays in that space, but anyone who shares that mental landscape with you… Let’s just say they might suffer an anomaly or two as a result.’

‘I’m… not following,’ Thundercracker said, frowning.

‘From what I understand, it lets you re-examine memories,’ Jetfire went on. ‘Just like you wanted. And I have a feeling some of the memories you’ve been wandering around in, might have been shared with others. Namely, myself.’

Thundercracker’s thoughts squirmed within him. He shook his head, touching his fingertips to his brow. ‘That doesn’t make any sense.’

‘What doesn’t make sense?’ Jetfire asked. ‘The nature of the invention or -’

‘I talked to Skywarp,’ he said, ‘to check it wasn’t… He remembered everything the same. Nothing had changed.’

‘Ah,’ said Jetfire.

Uncomfortable with standing so crookedly, he carefully set himself down so that they were almost sitting side-by-side. Knees up, Jetfire sought eye contact that Thundercracker was wholly reluctant to give.

‘Nothing does change,’ he explained. ‘It’s a clever machine, but it doesn’t rewrite what has already been written. Your senses are boosted, so maybe everything around you _feels_ real, but it’s… just a memory, in the end.’ He broke off, angling his head to the side in question. ‘If you don’t mind my asking… What were you trying to rectify?’

‘I do mind you asking,’ Thundercracker said stiffly.

‘Understood...’ Jetfire paused, paying an uncharacteristic amount of attention to the floor under his hands. ‘Still, I can’t deny that I’m surprised,’ he said, lifting his chin to look at him. ‘I really didn’t consider you would have the motivation to… Or even the _means_ -’

Thundercracker turned towards him. ‘You’d be surprised, too, at what the EDC leaves lying around.’

Jetfire considered him for a moment. He likely hadn’t missed Thundercracker hedging around his curiosity. But thankfully, he didn’t linger on the subject.

‘Well, if nothing else,’ he said around a sigh, ‘it explains why I have two recollections of one event at war with one another. Myself, and others.’

Shifting on his makeshift chair, Thundercracker angled himself so that they were properly facing one another. ‘You said… nothing would be changed.’

‘Nothing _is_ changed,’ Jetfire repeated. ‘The consequences only exist in the mind. Which is neither here nor there, when you think about it. How many people can remember something from the past utterly verbatim? The problems start when you deviate from the set space. You have two recollections, running parallel with one another. I can’t… give an accurate lesson on infraspace, its effects, even its _whereabouts_. But it does exist. And we can manipulate it as we can the environment around us, right now, if one only knows how to access it.’

‘And what about the dead?’ Thundercracker asked, quickly enough for Jetfire to flinch at his delivery. He held his hands out, trying his best to collect himself and explain. ‘What happens if you talk to someone in a memory, but they’re no longer living?’

‘You torment yourself,’ said Jetfire softly. ‘Just as badly as did the one who made the device in the first place.’

He found a reason in the silence that followed to elaborate.

‘All of your conversations with that person will be imaginary. The ones who are living might get echoes but, like I said, it’s easy to dismiss. Anyone who doesn’t know any better will just think they’re misremembering. So you don’t have to worry too much. We have a scale for these things. Named after the creator himself, in fact.’

Thundercracker bobbed his knee up and down to disperse some of his nerves.

‘And… the blueprints you mentioned,’ he ventured. ‘Where does that sit on the scale?’

‘I would say a two,’ said Jetfire, holding up what the humans would see as a ‘peace sign’ in emphasis.

‘With the way you’re talking, I would have thought it’d be more of an eight or a nine,’ Thundercracker said.

Jetfire hummed a laugh. ‘Well, whilst you shouldn’t worry too much over the consequences, I hope you can understand why I’m uncomfortable knowing there is a physical copy of this device in existence. The first one was destroyed, and its instructions were withheld for good reason, after all…’

Jetfire’s gaze was unmoving. He then leaned forwards, palm up, as if expecting to be given something. Thundercracker held out his empty hands in response.

‘It’s gone,’ he said.

‘Are you sure?’ Jetfire pressed. ‘You thought Marissa Faireborn had sent me to you regarding this -’

‘Right, but I’ve erased everything from my datapad remotely, and as for the technology I, uh… Well, when Marissa caught me, I got scared and I just…’ He clenched his fingers into fists, as if to demonstrate squeezing the life out of the motherboard, the wires, and all the little components inside. ‘She keeps trying to contact me, and you were hailing me from the Ark-7 not too long ago. I guess I thought…’ He sighed. ‘Whatever. Not that it _matters_. I think the guy behind all of this still had some work left to do anyway. Going against the memories just made everything malfunction… And I could never go exactly where I wanted to… There’s nothing left, but if there was… It’s just a two, right? No danger?’

Satisfied, Jetfire was already getting to a stand. His expression was one of empathy.

‘No danger. Although the problems you were having - that sounds like faulty manufacturing on your part,’ he said gently. ‘The instructions were precise, but it’s not an easy thing to make. I imagine you had to substitute some of the parts here and there, too.’

Thundercracker nodded, brimming with relief. ‘Something like that.’

‘I’m sorry you couldn’t get what you wanted out of this endeavour anyway,’ said Jetfire as he approached the doorway. ‘Can I give you some advice, before I leave?’

‘If you have to,’ Thundercracker said, eager to be alone.

The events of the day had taken their toll. Through the window, he could see the moon, still prevailing. It was like the night would never end. In some ways, Thundercracker was beginning to hope it wouldn't.

Before crossing to the other side of the exit, Jetfire paused to look back at him, a soft smile warming his words.

‘You should always look to the future,’ was what he said. ‘That’s the only place that has anything for us. Even if we must leave things behind to get there.’

Thundercracker smirked.

'That sounds like something I should be writing in one of my screenplays,' he said.

He stood up to see the other mech out, the large crate, and the rest of the room, cool with darkness.

'Then you should spend more time around Optimus Prime,' said Jetfire, humoured. 'After a while, his pseudo-wisdom really starts to rub off on you.'

Although he stood behind the safety of the stuck, partly-folded garage door, Thundercracker watched Jetfire's departure until he was but a tiny blip amongst the stars. Neither of their visions had been impaired by the lack of light during their conversation. It was easy to adjust one's optics to account for dimly-lit spaces after all. But even though the poor lighting hadn't been intentional, there had been some benefit to residing in shadow. He stood for a while, examining the glass glittering at the foot of the back wall.

Behind the crate, tangled and broken-looking enough to go unnoticed, were components. Potential, yet to be destroyed.

_No danger._

Well if that was the case, how could he say no?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. If you want a preview of what is to come in the next chapter, I have posted an excerpt on my Tumblr blog, seiportne ('entropies', but backwards!) :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I am so sorry that over a month has passed since I updated this... Thank you to all of you for your patience. Second off, there is an epilogue to follow this chapter, which will be up before Monday, I just need a little more time on the edits. And finally... I think this chapter is going to justify that M rating a bit (I've changed the summary/tags to reflect that). CW for NSFW stuff below... I'm really new to this so... Haha... I hope it's okay...

The chain hoist wasn’t difficult to fix. The way humans built things was so simplistic, that even without the necessary skill, Thundercracker could work out where the problem was and how to make it go away. For all it whined and protested, the door descended with an agonising screech, its clunk against the floor signalling the place was secure. Or at least as secure as he was going to get it.

He hesitated as he attached the wires to himself. If there was anything this experience had taught him, it was that there was no forcing a thing to look how you wanted it to look. The truth would always be there; reality, a thick lens through which everything must be viewed. And although the intricacies of the science were beyond him, Thundercracker supposed that could explain his mind’s fixation with The Citadel. That, in a way, was where everything had started. He had acted before, and continued to act afterwards… but there, in that moment, his conviction to the Decepticon cause had been unbreakable. Everything had looked _right_.

_Are you… struggling with guilt?_

Was that it?

There had been a time when Bumblebee’s sharp insight had irked Thundercracker. Everyone had parts of themselves that were not meant to be seen, and Bumblebee had a knack for _seeing_ them. Feelings obscured under other feelings, tightly encased secrets, thoughts shared only through opposing sentiments; nothing was safe. Thundercracker wondered if that was why he was so keen to find Bumblebee again. These days, he hardly knew himself. What was he, but a vague shape around a threadbare form?

_You’re a warrior. A warrior down to your circuits._

Reaching for the device, Thundercracker set the timer. It was attached to a rudimentary power source, cobbled together from the gas station’s scraps.

Without the restraints to hold him still, he felt his arms slacken. He fell forwards, his elbows resting on his knees, and head lowering as his optics blacked out. The breeze outside became a loud fuzz, the distant hum of aircraft an echoing rumble that shook the floor and sent vibrations up through the soles of his feet. Internal security systems blaring, Thundercracker was jarred when he looked up at the room he had moments before seen as a dishevelled, ruined hovel.

The corrugated metal of the door was now undented. As he got up and looked about himself, he noticed that only some of the screens on the back wall were destroyed, their fractures web-white.

His attention was pulled to a soft bleeping, an object on his radars that he had failed to register until it was on the road outside. Familiar sounds of transformation grated in his audio receptors. Thundercracker tensed, listening out for the visitor’s next move. That, after all, would dictate his own.

There was nothing. Just an eerie silence etched around the obvious presence of somebody outside. A little calmer after the jump, Thundercracker approached the door and hit the button to activate the winch. It worked harder this time, moving the panels up much more quickly. Curious, Thundercracker peered under them before they had fully gathered to the top.

He wanted to be surprised, but of course, he wasn’t. His current surroundings in the present had to explain the ease of obtaining access to such a memory - that, and his determination to find it. Perhaps practice had made him better at going to where he wanted to go, despite his ‘faulty manufacturing’, as Jetfire had put it.

Bumblebee’s hand fell by his side. With the door removed, there was no need to knock. As expected, he had his cane, and relied upon it to keep himself upright. He gave a wan smile, trying to be bright in the face of what must have been constant disappointment since the vast majority of the Autobots had chosen to follow Optimus Prime back to Cybertron.

‘You’re still difficult to sneak up on, huh?’

‘Maybe you just need to get better at sneaking,’ Thundercracker said, hardly able to keep himself from smiling.

‘Well, it’s not as easy as it _used_ to be.’

Bumblebee glanced at his makeshift walking stick, and with a half-step forwards, demonstrated the awkwardness of his movement since the injury.

‘Good thing you’re not a saboteur anymore,’ said Thundercracker.

‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to hurt my feelings.'

Thundercracker frowned, mind already searching for an excuse to invite him indoors without it seeming out of place. He peered underneath the now fully-retracted door, optics on the sky as if there was anything there to watch for besides drifting moths and the sluggish crawl of human aircraft. Bumblebee inclined himself to follow Thundercracker’s gaze.

‘If you’re worried about Starscream,’ he said, ‘don’t be.’

‘You found your spacebridge then.’

‘Not mine,’ Bumblebee sighed. ‘Theirs. I just hope…’ He paused and stared at the ground before shaking away whatever line of thought had seized him. ‘Never mind.’

‘You’re still concerned about Cybertron?’

‘You’re still _not_.’

Thundercracker waved his hand dismissively, eager to avoid this topic of conversation. It was the one thing between them that could cause an argument, that and the question of his alliance since abandoning the Decepticons. He turned his back on Bumblebee then, stepping into the safety of the darkness. Bumblebee followed, but brought himself only just over the threshold. Optics glowing bright blue, he assessed the space in a wary silence.

‘Where will you go?’ he asked. ‘Since you’re not staying here.’

‘I’m not sure,’ Thundercracker said. ‘Haven’t decided yet.’

Before he took a seat, he wandered over to the doorway. With a gentle press of the button, the metal sheeting creaked and rattled to a close. Bumblebee stepped further in to avoid his heels being clipped. There was an uncertainty about him, a palpable anxiety that Thundercracker was reluctant to address.

‘Don’t wanna risk humans passing by and seeing us,’ he offered in the way of an explanation. ‘They’re a little more hostile these days.’

Of course, he didn’t have to tell that to Bumblebee, who had the planet’s dominant species to thank for his damaged knee joint.

‘So are you going to tell me why you’re here?’ Thundercracker ventured.

He lowered himself to sit on the same large, well-assembled crate that had been in the gas station since he had first discovered it.

‘Honestly,’ Bumblebee said, ‘I wasn’t expecting…’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘This was just supposed to be a quick, uh, notice. About how we’re leaving. I figured I’d let you know and - and ask again if you’d changed your mind…’ He lowered his chin to his chest. ‘Doesn’t look like it though...’

‘Convince me,’ Thundercracker said as he got to his feet.

This prompted Bee’s attention, but despite the soft confusion on his expression, he held his position.

‘What?’

‘If you want me to go with you,’ Thundercracker said slowly, ‘then convince me.’

It was a risk to put the burden of action onto Bumblebee. He was steadfast against the closer proximity. The gap between them was soon so thin that he had to look upwards for eye contact.

‘You’ll be treated as one of us,’ Bumblebee first attempted, his free hand quick to touch the Autobot symbol at his chest, ‘If… If that’s what you want. I know it’s awkward for you - a factional change, but -’

Thundercracker should have known the request would be taken too seriously. Previous trips had told him that the feelings between them could be mutual. He just didn’t want to be the instigator a second time. At the very least, he wanted an invitation.

‘I’m not talking about changing sides,’ he hedged.

Bee nodded, appearing thoughtful until he brightened with the promise of a new idea.

‘Well, you could always live on Cybertron as you do here,’ he said.

Thundercracker inclined his head, prompting him further.

‘Free, I mean,’ Bumblebee explained. ‘Unaligned.’

‘I said convince me,’ Thundercracker reminded, ‘not sell it to me.’

He remained stern in the face of Bumblebee’s faint dejection. Deep down, he knew he was badgering for an answer that he wouldn’t get without an explicit request. Uncomfortable to be as close as they were, Bumblebee retreated a step, free hand at the nape of his neck, a quick back-and-forth rub easing the ache of having to stare upwards for so long.

‘Fine,’ he said, a little impatiently. ‘This time you’ve definitely seen me more than once in the last four months. Which means we’re friends now, right?’

It was no surprise he had remembered that exchange, and Thundercracker found Bumblebee’s expectant smile infectious.

‘Your words, not mine,’ he said after regaining some composure. ‘And that’s still not enough.’

‘Wow.’ Tone flat, Bumblebee brought his hand to his chassis, this time in mock-offence. ‘So I’m being too friendly? That’s the problem here?’

‘Even _you_ have to admit,’ said Thundercracker, ‘you’ve always been ridiculously fast to make friends with people.’

He was thinking back to their encounter during the search for Metroplex; the speed with which Bumblebee had gained the trust of the natives after no real effort. Although the comment had been more of an observation than a criticism, it seemed to touch a nerve.

‘That doesn’t give what we have any less value,’ Bumblebee said passionately.

‘Interesting,’ said Thundercracker. ‘What would you say we have?’

He closed the gap between them again with a single step. Curling a finger under Bumblebee’s chin, Thundercracker forced him to return his gaze. Although he flinched and lifted his available hand as if to reject the touch, Bumblebee didn’t fully commit to the intention.

‘Mind if I guess?’ Thundercracker asked.

He understood the concept of ‘deja vu’ better once he ran his thumb over Bumblebee’s mouth. A small noise of anticipation was loosened from his vocoder, similar to his response back in the Autobot medibay. That had been a false memory, something Thundercracker had created in infraspace, but he couldn’t help but be tricked into thinking it had been real. That _this_ was real.

Touching his palm to the side of Bumblebee’s face, he could _feel_ the warmth radiating off of him. See the lenses of his optics readjusting, hear the soft breath of his systems heating. Thundercracker bent down, sparkbeat spasming when Bumblebee lifted himself onto his tiptoes to meet him. He slipped the fingers not gripping his cane against Thundercracker’s neck, tugging him closer, leaning heavily into the kiss.

‘I didn’t think,’ said Bumblebee, breaking off, ‘you were ever going to -’

Thundercracker quieted him, humming his reply, glossa catching Bumblebee’s lower lip. They were building up a steady rhythm. The closeness, flushing him with tense excitement. Until, again, Bumblebee pulled back. The denial like a panging kick to his urges.

‘You gave me such a different impression -’

‘Am I now?’ Thundercracker asked, his voice low with want.

‘No, but -’

A playful bite to Bumblebee’s neck set him shivering, his aid hitting the floor with a clatter. He was forced to clasp Thundercracker at the arm to keep himself upright. Each of his small, pleasurable gasps becoming more fraught, his injured knee strut straining. About to stagger forwards due to the height difference, Thundercracker retreated. He was stricken with a sudden thought. Bumblebee was balancing himself on one leg, clinging to him for support.

‘W-What is it?’ he asked. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ Thundercracker said. ‘Just…’

A glance over his shoulder showed him the perfect solution to the problem he had foreseen. Thundercracker moved to Bumblebee’s side, guiding him over to the sturdy crate.

‘Sit there,’ he commanded.

‘Why?’

Bumblebee looked dazed, uncertainty brewing into worry as, to stop himself from falling, he had to sit down.

‘It’ll be better,’ Thundercracker said. ‘Trust me.’

He knelt on the floor in front of the crate, running his hands up to Bumblebee’s thighs as he drew himself in. The shudder he got in reward rent cravings up his circuits. Mouth hungry, fingers explorative, Thundercracker grew more desperate at the rasps and sighs offered in response to his touching. He intended to go slow, to be gentle. Only for every soft brush of his parted lips, Bumblebee returned with rougher encouragements. His hands roved and reached, grazing a range of sensitivities.

Thundercracker thumbed at Bumblebee’s panel, appetite building. A few teasing rubs were enough. Transfluid, sticky and warm, leaked from the still-closed slot. Bumblebee hid his face in the crook of Thundercracker’s neck. The touching was unloosening him, driving him restless. Any uncertainties he had left soon gave out to more cardinal needs. Bringing up his knees, he dug in his heels at the top of the crate, resting back on his elbows.

Thundercracker leaned into the invitation. He dipped to touch his lips to Bumblebee’s slackening panel, the lubricant sour on his glossa. Moaning as he sucked, he put his palms to the other’s midriff. Spurred by every little flinch and writhe.

With a slick click, Bumblebee’s valve cover snapped open. Thundercracker withdrew to slip his fingers inside of him. His systems were heating, condensation from his vents wisping in the cold air. Desire cramped at his core as he imagined his own spike in replacement. He lapsed into a mechanical stroking, his imagination feeding him until Bumblebee arose.

Leaning forwards, he cupped his hand under Thundercracker’s to motion for quicker, harder thrusts. The air was tempered with a swift, wet clanking. Thundercracker felt his knee struts weakening, his spike swelling behind its cover. He pulled out, tugging Bumblebee onto his lap, hands clamped at his thighs. Bumblebee wrapped his arms around Thundercracker’s neck, holding his eye-contact. Watching him carefully, Thundercracker bucked his hips. Bumblebee ground down against him, slack in his yearning.

‘Do you like that?’ Thundercracker asked him.

Bumblebee gave no answer. His rutting, first so sure and urgent, now abating.

Thundercracker repositioned to get better purchase on the floor with his knees. He scooped Bumblebee against him with one arm, holding onto the edges of the crate with his free hand. But Bumblebee’s confidence was faltering. He could sense it. Hoping to ease him Thundercracker slowed, ducking to kiss him. Frame rigid, Bumblebee turned his head away sharply. A wordless gesture, that did not go unheard.

Eagerness cooling, Thundercracker tried to give Bumblebee space.

‘You should say if you don’t want it,’ he said, leaning back.

Words that had grown from gentle thoughts turned cold once voiced.

‘I do,’ Bumblebee said quickly. ‘I want to, but...’

He put his hand over Thundercracker’s to halt the absent-minded rubbing at his injured knee-joint.

‘I know I’m not convincing you.’

The thought suddenly occurred to Thundercracker that this was new to Bumblebee. Which presented him with a situation he was new too as well. Although he wanted to be mindful, his inner sentiment failed to manifest in his outer expression.

‘You’re doing fine,’ was what he offered, hesitantly.

‘Thanks,’ Bumblebee said stiffly. ‘Even though I, uh… didn’t _mean_ it like that…’

‘Oh?’

It was Bumblebee’s turn to be embarrassed.

‘Look, I know what I’m doing,’ he said. ‘But… what does it matter? You’re not going to return to Cybertron. Not with me.’

Those words sounded uncomfortably prophetic. Thundercracker sat back on his thrusters, numbly aware once more that this conversation was not real. There was that echo of the truth; this was made up, and nothing would change.

Back on Cybertron, in the Citadel, Bumblebee was tortured by Starscream. On Earth, after Wheeljack had fixed him up, Thundercracker had told Bumblebee to leave him alone. In this abandoned gas station, he had allowed Bumblebee to leave, followed only by silence. Then, Bumblebee had been killed.

He was dead, and this wasn’t real.

‘I guess I…’ Bumblebee faltered, chin to his chassis. ‘I don’t understand why you would let me believe -’

‘I’m not trying to use you,’ Thundercracker said, feeling accused. ‘There just won’t be another chance, that’s all.’

Bumblebee’s optics flickered, as quick as a blink.

‘You can’t know that,’ he said.

He hoisted himself onto the crate, a chill draught sapping the warmth they’d worked between each other. Bumblebee began to pick at a bristle of spelks, and Thundercracker watched him, his temper stirring.

‘Yes I can,’ he answered.

‘You could come and visit,’ Bumblebee persisted. ‘Once we get a spacebridge…’

He fidgeted, knees apart, no doubt as pulled-at by his urges as Thundercracker was by his own. But the turn of the conversation had plummeted Thundercracker’s internal temperature, dousing his aching along with it. He put his palms to the crate, careful not to brush against Bumblebee’s legs as he did so.

‘I won’t,’ he eventually admitted.

He angled to face the night-darkened windows, weighing up the option of just telling Bumblebee why he knew - so absolutely - how the future was going to go. But… his vocoder kept getting stuck on the words.

_You’re dead. You’re going to die_.

News like that would only panic him, and Thundercracker couldn’t bear to do it. Even if this Bumblebee was just a figment of his imagination in a memory long past.

‘Then I’ll come and visit you,’ Bumblebee said.

Although his optimism was infectious, it did little to soothe Thundercracker’s despondency.

‘You won’t,’ he said.

He tore his attention away from the window, just in time to see Bumblebee’s expression empty of all warmth.

‘Because… you don’t want me to?’

‘No -’

Bumblebee braced himself as if about to stand up. His cane was still at the other side of the room. Thundercracker frowned, spark brittle.

‘You’re misunderstanding,’ he said, stalling him. ‘I’m just trying to tell you the truth -’

‘What truth?’ Bumblebee challenged. ‘You’re just telling me what you think you know.’

They were bordering on the edge of a disagreement, and perhaps worse than that, Thundercracker’s refusal to commit to anything beyond this moment was giving a very different impression than the one he wanted to give. The whole point of revisiting the memories was to fix them. It was so he could take different paths, and do and say what he had really wanted to the first time around. Without the uncertainty. Without doubt.

Perhaps what he wanted and what he expected were two different things.

_What did you_ really _call me here for? Are you… struggling with guilt? Because I can’t absolve you of that. Nobody can do that but_ you.

Looking at Bumblebee now, with his expression so unsure, it was as though those words had just left his vocoder. Drawing himself as close as he could get, Thundercracker held Bumblebee’s face between his palms.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

The intensity of his gaze was enough to rattle Bumblebee’s resolve, but he was quick, as always, to find himself again.

‘Thundercracker,’ he said softly, ‘maybe we should just… let each other go.’

‘I don’t want to,’ said Thundercracker. ‘Do you? Is that what you want?’

Bumblebee opened his mouth to answer, but said nothing. His optics brimming with uncertainty. Every second that dropped between them only fortified Thundercracker’s yearning. Atune to Bumblebee’s lack of confidence, he dared to guess at what he wanted. First, he moved to touch his midriff. Bumblebee yielded, back arching. Gently, Thundercracker brushed kisses at his jaw, his throat, palms roaming further south.

‘You could stay,’ he said.

Bumblebee groaned. ‘You know I can’t. I have to go back to Cybertron with the others.’

‘Then why can’t we make the most of now?’ asked Thundercracker.

He leaned back a little so he could see Bumblebee’s face. Just to make sure he wasn’t overstepping any boundaries. Physical ones, at least. The emotional ones had already been crossed, and he could see that in the way Bumblebee refused to look at him, for all he was shivering at his touch.

‘Even if we just sit together,’ Thundercracker offered, about to lift his hands from him. ‘We can stay at opposite sides of the room if you want -’

‘Are you kidding?’ Bumblebee cut in, flustered. ‘You started this. You could at least finish it...’

Thundercracker caught a laugh in his throat, unsure of how to respond at first. His careful examining, his testing of the quiet that had settled under them, was met with firm dedication from Bumblebee. He leaned forwards, kisses rough, but tentative.

‘Wait,’ Thundercracker murmured. ‘I don’t want you to feel forced -’

‘I don’t,’ said Bumblebee.

He slipped from the crate onto Thundercracker’s lap, one hand snug between his legs as he worked on re-opening his valve cover. Thundercracker occupied himself elsewhere, grazing his palms to the other’s neck, waist. Inner thighs, chassis. Lingering at the spots that earned him the most interest. Caressing, and stimulating, edging at the delicious heat unspooling inside of himself.

Bumblebee then extracted his fingers. They were webbed with transfluid, more of it dripping down his legs. He ground his hips, rutting purposefully, until he succeeded in coaxing out Thundercracker’s array. With a deep groan, he took hold of the shaft. Massaging from base to tip with deliberate slowness. All throughout, watching Thundercracker for his reaction. Readjusting his grip, rubbing harder, varying his pace according to every twitch, or unloosened moan. Frame softening, Thundercracker brought his palms to the floor on either side of himself.

‘Are you going to lie down for me?’

Bumblebee’s voice was thick with desire as he ran his hands down the length of Thundercracker’s midriff.

‘Y-Yes,’ Thundercracker said, already lying back.

‘This,’ said Bumblebee, inching up to straddle him, ‘is only because it’s the last time we’ll see each other -’

He eased his valve over Thundercracker’s spike, Thundercracker humming his acknowledgement, lifting his hips to push in deep. Bumblebee flinched, vents shuddering into life.

‘Hah… Which I s-still don’t _believe_ by the way,’ he managed.

A tight warmth clasping his shaft, Thundercracker quickened his pace.

‘I wish it wasn’t,’ he said.

Bumblebee’s response left hurried between the jostling.

‘You know it doesn’t have to be.’

That idea caught in Thundercracker’s brain module like an undone bit of scrap in a gear. His spike was snug, pressed between Bumblebee’s clenching calipers, their grinding pulling a lush ache from the base of his spinal strut. Against the need to chase an overload, Thundercracker slowed his rhythm.

‘K-Keep going,’ Bumblebee urged quietly, ‘a little harder -’

‘What do you mean?’

He quivered, collapsing with chagrin. ‘Please don’t make me repeat it...’

‘Not that,’ Thundercracker insisted. ‘I’m talking about what you said before.’

He pulled Bumblebee down against him until they were chassis-to-chassis, thrusts arhythmic, and clumsy. The head of his spike was grazing a node cluster, and Bumblebee was shaking with need. Ducking his chin, face pressed to Thundercracker’s chest vents, he relinquished to the question.

‘You can visit me,’ he gasped, ‘any time.’

Thundercracker turned them over abruptly, his spike sliding out as they manoeuvred.

‘Hah,’ Bumblebee sounded from under him. ‘Everything okay?’

He gently pressed his palms to Thundercracker’s helmet, expression imploring. Or was that _knowing_? Thundercracker couldn’t decipher the twist at his mouth. Whether it was a smile, or the beginnings of a smirk.

‘Should we stop?’

‘No,’ he said, unsure.

Not about what they were doing. About the circumstances, the walls, the very air. The threads of infraspace woven around them. He just couldn’t help but wonder. If Bumblebee were alive, what would the far-reaching effects of this rewritten memory be?

Tentatively, Thundercracker re-entered, encouraged by Bumblebee’s relieved sighs. Head tipped back, Bumblebee’s optics were flickering, fingers curling into his palms in search of something to grip.

‘You know we can’t do this anymore after tonight,’ Thundercracker checked. ‘Right?’

‘I-If you say so,’ said Bumblebee.

‘You’re stubborn.’

Bumblebee smiled, moans light and breathy. ‘Because I know I’m going to see you again.’

Thundercracker was losing composure. An ache clutched his array, heightening with every stroke. He could tell they were both getting close. Focusing his thoughts, he aimed to get Bumblebee there first. Kneeling between his legs, Thundercracker drove in deeper, rougher.

‘Ah!’ Bumblebee cried, ‘Thundercracker...’

‘Does that feel good?’

‘Yes,’ he said, trembling all over. ‘Uhn, don’t stop.’

Flat on his back, legs hooked against Thundercracker’s hips, Bumblebee was slackening with pleasure at each thick and fast pound into his valve. His keening was kicking Thundercracker closer to the edge. Spike painfully hard, his sensory nodes buzzed at Bumblebee’s calipers contracting, spasming.

Until the overload came, a gush of warm transfluid pouring out of him. A few more strokes was all it took for Thundercracker to follow. Awash with relief, elbows slackening, he did well to hold himself up over Bumblebee, who lay beneath him, still stuttering.

‘Was that okay?’ Thundercracker checked, leaning down to kiss him.

Bumblebee nodded, receptive to the affection. Thundercracker spent some time comforting him, their inner whirrings and the hum of overworked systems winding down into an intimate quiet. For a moment, he mistook the tugging sensations on his insides as latent desires. But there was a fuzz around the edges of his view, a crackle of static. A promise that the tapestry holding them together was about to tear.

‘Is something wrong?’ Bumblebee asked.

Thundercracker could feel his helm being stroked, his shoulders. He was fighting the pull, his spark feeling stretched. There was a blur encroaching on the room, smoothing away all detail. His optics refiltered, and he was sure he could see flashes of where he was meant to be. Broken screens, scattered debris. Pooling shadow. And nothing and nobody around, for miles and miles, except for himself.

He then awoke, still sitting in the same place, the wires of the machine tangled in his hands. Joints sore, spark shrinking. And his audio receptors ringing with the echo of Bumblebee’s voice, long after the vision of him had already gone.


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late because, like Cyberverse Bumblebee, I am never on time for anything. Had this written mostly before Unicron, so forgive my creative licence...

The spacebridge spat Thundercracker out in a whorl of colour, his bearings feeling stretched, spark frazzled. He was hit with the scent of warmed electrics; a cacophony of clangs, and roaring engines. Even in earth’s loudest cities, there was quiet. But Cybertron was always alive.

He was relieved, at least, to see friendly faces.

Windblade smiled at him warmly, Starscream standing next to her, appraising him in silence. Straight-backed, wings pricked; Thundercracker supposed he was waiting for some kind of _congratulations_ for being Cybertron’s representative in the Council of Worlds. A bit of a fall from leader of the planet, but at least as far as the successes of their trine went, Starscream was the only one with an actual rank attached to his name. Not that Thundercracker cared. Leadership and authority had always been positions better left to somebody else, as far as he was concerned.

‘I’m sorry to hear of your reasons for returning,’ Windblade then said.

She left Starscream’s side so she could greet him properly. On instinct, Thundercracker stuck out his hand. Having already met her own fair share of humans, Windblade was quick to return the gesture. She held his hand in hers, patting in sympathy.

‘That’s okay,’ Thundercracker said, enjoying the comfort. ‘It’s nobody’s fault.’

‘Yes, such a shame how things on earth don’t last very long,’ Starscream piped up as he joined them. ‘Earth dogs especially.’

‘It’s just _dogs_ ,’ Thundercracker corrected.

‘Well, whatever,’ said Starscream. ‘I suppose you’ll want a tour. A lot has changed since you were last here.’

Windblade let go of Thundercracker’s hand to cross her arms over her chest.

‘Be careful, Starscream,’ she said. ‘I fear you’re being _too_ empathetic.’

‘Oh, please,’ Starscream muttered. ‘What’s _one_ organic. And an animal, no less -’

‘No thanks on the tour,’ Thundercracker cut in.

Any irritation he might have felt at Starscream’s ignorance was dampened by his sense of grief. Minutes before, he had just gotten through saying his goodbyes. Marissa had been stoic in her upset, as had he. They would see each other again, Thundercracker knew as much. He would just have to be sure to check up on her often.

Buster’s lifespan had been like the flick of a switch. Although Marissa had years and years left, organic lives were astonishing in how quickly they could slide out of view. His stint on earth was already starting to feel like a dream. He didn’t want his fresh start on this reformed Cybertron to begin with an argument. Least of all with Starscream.

That was in the past now.

‘Who do I talk to about jobs?’ Thundercracker asked, attempting cheerfulness. ‘The sooner I can get my own place, the better.’

‘I thought you might like to work as an accompanying liaison with Marissa Faireborn,’ Windblade said. ‘Your experience with Earth is -’

Thundercracker halted her by holding up his palm.

‘I appreciate the suggestion,’ he said, ‘but I… I want to get away from Earth for a while.’

‘You would be based here on Cybertron,’ she tested.

‘Windblade, no need to force the issue,’ Starscream said. ‘Besides, I was expecting you to refuse, so we already _have_ a candidate for that in mind.’

Sidling up to Thundercracker, Starscream put an arm around the back of his wings, ushering him away from the spacebridge platform. Windblade followed after, watching them both carefully.

There were other bots around the immediate area; most were attached to consoles, presumably monitoring the bridge’s inputs, outputs, and any potential incoming traffic now that Cybertron was open to all of her colonies. Or at least what was left of them, after the devastation Unicron had wrought.

‘I know you, Thundercracker,’ Starscream was saying as they walked. ‘You have simpler ambitions than anything to do with the council -’

‘Hm, come to think of it,’ Thundercracker said, unable to resist teasing him, ‘everyone needs a stand-in. Maybe I could be yours.’

‘Perfect,’ Windblade said, grinning. ‘I can start making all of the necessary arrangements.’

‘Or I could be in charge of his Public Relations,’ Thundercracker said to her, before turning back to Starscream. ‘I know you didn’t get to use the film I wrote for you, but -’

Starscream let go of him, bristling and tense.

‘Uh, let’s not get _too_ ahead of ourselves,’ he said. ‘I actually know the perfect place to put you.’

He tapped Thundercracker’s cockpit in emphasis. Now that he was back on Cybertron, Thundercracker supposed he would need a more appropriate altmode. Starscream beckoned at him, already heading for the nearest exit. When Thundercracker looked to Windblade for some kind of interjection, she just smiled and shrugged.

‘If you change your mind about being a liaison for earth,’ she said as they all parted ways, ‘you only have to let me know.’

 

The streets were more congested than Thundercracker remembered. At a bird’s eye view, he was witness to a bustling society, something close to what Cybertron had been like before the war. Only with more people, in all manners of shapes and sizes. He saw more ‘bots like Windblade, and others with animalistic forms, reminding him of creatures he had seen on Earth. Even better than that, not one person was wearing a badge. The time of factions was over. Both Optimus Prime and Megatron were off-planet, allowing everyone else to forge a new world out of the ashes they had left behind. Parts of the planet were still charred, and lightless, despite Iacon’s buzzing livelihood. Rent metal and great, pocking craters - Unicron’s teeth marks - marred the horizon.

They were not in the air for long. Starscream brought them to land in front of an impressive, cube-shaped building. Similar to the fabled architecture of the Crystal City, the walls were constructed out of golden, shining glass, brushing everyone inside with a muted, sepia hue. From all around it, other structures were attached by arcing, silver bridges, a stream of traffic entering and leaving sporadically.

‘This is the new Iaconian University,’ Starscream said as they approached the doors.

Thundercracker slowed to a stop, prompting Starscream to turn around.

‘You think I’ll fit in at a place like this?’

He knew he was creative, but that was different from being innately intelligent, or forged with a given function. The only time he had spent in any institute had been eons ago, at Jhiaxus’ Academy of Advanced Technology. There had been no IQ test, no expectation that he would be intellectually gifted; Senator Shockwave’s interest in him had been in his ability to generate sonic booms. And as far as ‘powers’ went, it wasn’t one Thundercracker felt particularly proud of. Outside of terrorising people, he couldn’t do much with it. Not like Skywarp’s teleportation, or Soundwave’s telepathy.

‘In my bluntly honest opinion, no,’ Starscream said. ‘But you’re a Seeker, and all of these…’ he gestured vaguely, in search of a term, ‘ _nerd-_ types, are after ‘bots who don’t mind getting their hands dirty.’

‘I wouldn’t really class myself as a Seeker anymore,’ Thundercracker said.

Starscream waved a hand in dismissal. ‘You could be good at _finding_ things, is my point.’

‘And I don’t want to get my hands dirty,’ Thundercracker added. ‘You know I don’t do that. I thought nobody did that.’

‘Not from fighting,’ Starscream said irritably. ‘Look. At least come inside. You said you wanted a job, didn’t you? Aside from being a liaison for Earth, your options are pretty limited. Maybe it has escaped your notice, but there’s been a population boom, and jobs aren’t exactly falling out of the sky -’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Thundercracker. ‘Fine. I’ll _inquire_.’ He heaved a sigh, reluctant to utter his next sentence. He knew Starscream was waiting for it. ‘Lead the way then…’

Starscream flashed him a smug grin.

‘Gladly.’

The entrance hall was opulent, glittering with the cold starlight hitting the glass panels from outside. Bypassing the front desk, striding confidently, Starscream took them down a series of narrow, blue-hued corridors. Thundercracker made an effort to peer into the rooms on either side of them, the tone of the walls and the high arching ceilings tugging at his memories.

‘This material,’ he said, running his palm along the wall to his right, ‘is it from the Citadel?’

‘See, you’ll be perfect for this job,’ Starscream voiced, a fair few steps ahead. ‘All of this was scavenged - sorry, _excavated_ \- from one of our old battle sites.’

‘I don’t know…’ Thundercracker said, drawing his hands close to his chest. ‘Doesn’t that feel… weird to you?’

‘What’s weird about it?’ Starscream paused, allowing Thundercracker time to catch up with him. ‘We have to build out of something. Recycling, reusing… It’s all in these days.’

‘Yeah, but… The things these walls have seen…’

Wings drawn up, Thundercracker tipped his head back to eye the arcs above them. His insides cooled in revulsion as he thought back on his memory-hopping all of those years ago. How he had been forced to revisit the Autobots captured, and humiliated. He was quick to divert the thought. Even before that, Zeta’s vamparc ribbons were created under the azure glow of these very halls. They were all implicated, somewhere along the line, and Starscream was quick to point out the fact.

‘We’ve all done bad things, Thundercracker,’ he said, tone chilling. ‘If you dwell on your own guilt, you just invite yourself to be scrutinised. Why bother accepting punishment for things you can’t change?’

‘Maybe some of us deserve to be punished,’ said Thundercracker.

‘Yes, well… Those who truly deserve it, already have been.’

Turning on his heel, Starscream moved on, gaze set forward, posture straight.

‘Are you even sorry?’ Thundercracker asked as they drew level.

‘About what?’

‘The things that you’ve done. What you did here - I mean, at the Citadel - first off -’

‘You’re talking as if I acted alone.’

‘Didn’t you?’

Now that he had been forced to remember the machine he had replicated from Jetfire’s data stores, Thundercracker couldn’t help but test for further consequences. He had been unable to get a straight answer from Skywarp. His spark lurched with a fearful pulse as Starscream began to speak.

‘Not the way I remember it.’ Optics narrowed, he watched for Thundercracker’s response. When none came, he added, ‘If you mean the torture, Megatron not only gave the order, but he also helped. I would argue that we’ve since been forgiven. I’m not going to waste my energy staying sorry about it.’

Jetfire had been telling the truth, then, about things being unchanged. If Starscream had a disconnected recollection of what had happened under Thundercracker’s revisions, he wasn’t showing it, and Thundercracker wasn’t going to keep asking.

‘You mean, you’ve forgiven _yourself_ ,’ was what he did say. ‘A lot of the people you - _we_ \- hurt… They aren’t here to forgive anymore, are they?’

Starscream opened his mouth as if about to say something, but Thundercracker shook his head, cutting him off. They had reached the end of the corridor; a few more steps and they would trigger the door sensor.

‘I know the past is in the past,’ Thundercracker said, coming to a brisk stop. ‘I know we - we’ve covered that. But I can’t be the only one who still thinks about it. And coming back here… I don’t know... Maybe this was a bad idea...’

‘You’ve only been here for an hour,’ Strarscream criticised, smiling. Such warmth was incongruent with his sharp tongue. ‘I know to keep Earth safe, you were cut off for a while. But when something as big as Unicron comes along, it kind of puts everything else into _perspective_. The war… that’s practically old news now.’

‘I find that hard to believe. We were fighting, dragging others into it, for millions of years.’

‘And now we’re moving forward,’ said Starscream. ‘Are you? Or do you need to fester on earth for a few more years first?’ He gestured to the door, palm open. ‘New opportunities, or old habits. Your choice, Thundercracker.’

 

The room wasn’t quiet, but anyone speaking did so in a low-toned hum. Thundercracker spied several consoles and computers, some occupied, and others awaiting data upload. There were enough people around for their entrance not to draw too much attention, but naturally, Starscream commanded it. Walking tall, posture perfect, he looked about the room as if in expectation of applause. Instead, he received scant, over-the-shoulder looks. The workers’ backs facing him resolutely.

‘Ah, there,’ Starscream said suddenly, making no effort to keep his voice down. ‘Somebody useful. Depending on your definition, of course.’

He didn’t wait for Thundercracker to keep up, but then, Thundercracker didn’t exactly mind. On auto-pilot, he trundled after him, optics drawn more to their surroundings.

‘Starscream... What are the odds?’

A new voice. Faint, but familiar.

‘Better than average, considering you never go home,’ he could hear Starscream saying. ‘Always meddling, aren’t you?’

‘If anyone’s meddling, it’s you,’ came the retort. ‘I can’t go anywhere without you _following_ me.’

‘Coincidences happen, Bumblebee.’

The unexpected name-drop almost sent Thundercracker’s gears into reverse.

‘Hm… When you’re around, I’m not so sure they do.’

It was then Starscream stepped aside, unveiling Thundercracker from behind him with a graceful turn.

‘Moving on; I’m looking for one of the science ‘bots. I think I have a new candidate for them -’

Bumblebee’s optics widened. ‘Thundercracker?’

If not for Starscream, Bumblebee might have dropped his datapad; clumsily, he caught the device for him before it could hit the floor. Bumblebee then ran towards Thundercracker, door wings fluttering. Thinking he wasn’t going to stop, Thundercracker staggered backwards.

‘It’s good to see you,’ said Bumblebee, beaming as he came to a halt. ‘I hear you made quite a life for yourself on Earth.’

Thundercracker was stunned, his inner mechanisms twisting with discomfort. His last memories of Bumblebee weren’t quite so innocent. The sensations, feelings, the _experience_ as a whole had felt so real, he was burning with chagrin from having to tell himself it hadn’t been.

‘You look well,’ Bumblebee said, still trying to prompt him for a response.

‘ _I_ look well?’ Thundercracker stammered, struggling to recover from the shock. ‘I thought you were dead.’

At this, Bumblebee whipped to look behind himself, fists clenched. ‘ _Starscream_.’

‘What?’

He was holding the datapad by the corners as if to tease he might drop it.

‘You could have told him!’

‘He didn’t ask,’ Starscream drawled. ‘Besides, it’s not my job to orate the obituary to every returning expat.’

‘You wouldn’t have needed an _obituary_ , because I’m not dead.’ He turned back to Thundercracker, his anger evaporating the instant they locked optics. ‘I mean, I _was_ dead, sort of, but… Oh, it’s complicated. Optimus - he _found_ me, and thanks to Wheeljack, I’m as good as new now -’

‘Ah, yes, Wheeljack,’ Starscream cut in. ‘Primus rest his spark.’

Thundercracker couldn’t tell if Starscream was being sardonic or not, but he was more interested in other things.

‘Found you?’ he repeated. ‘So… You weren’t dead? You were just lost?’

‘Not exactly,’ Bumblebee said, looking a little nervous. ‘But I was gone for a long time.’

‘Where?’

‘I don’t really know,’ he said, as if still pondering. ‘To me, it looked like the Crystal City. But when Optimus arrived, he figured out where we were straight away, _and_ got us out.’

There was great pride in his tone, but the slump of his shoulders and his troubled frown betrayed his true emotions. Thundercracker could see he was measuring himself again. Weighing his worth against that of Optimus Prime. A fierce anger replaced his usual distaste for the former Autobot leader, but before he could direct it anywhere, Starscream sauntered closer.

‘Yes, well, as interesting as this is, we don’t _all_ have the luxury of resting on our laurels,’ he interrupted.

‘Resting on our…?’ Bumblebee repeated. ‘What are you talking about, Starscream?’

He reached for his datapad, and Starscream held it just out of his grasp, smirking wildly.

‘I’m just _saying_ , little Bee; we can’t all capitalise on being dead, can we? Or being a pet to a Prime. Most of us have to work for a living.’

A palpable tension was struck between them, a thousand unspoken words crossing from one glare to the other. Thundercracker’s anger fizzled into something darker. A tight, oozing emotion he couldn’t quite place.

‘So you were all alone?’ he pressed to Bumblebee, still trying to make sense of everything.

‘For a while,’ Bumblebee said, highly focused on retrieving his datapad. ‘But, uh, I had visitors of a sort.’ He stopped trying so hard, words twisting, and wry. ‘Didn’t I, Starscream?’

Glowering, Starscream opened his fingers, the data pad dropping like a stone to the floor before Bumblebee could grab it. The screen splintered, the display rent uneven.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ he said, side-stepping around the mess.

With a scowl, Bumblebee crouched down to pick up the pieces.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Thundercracker berated, catching Starscream before he could leave.

‘Oh, don’t act so surprised,’ he said.

‘I thought you were changing,’ said Thundercracker. ‘Moving forward.’

‘Well, obviously, I lied.’

A stillness had taken everyone around them, every pair of optics that Starscream met on his way out of the room quickly withdrawn.

‘He wasn’t lying,’ Bumblebee said once he was gone. ‘He’s just…’ He cradled his datapad as he rose to full height, shaking his head. ‘I might have gotten to know him a little better whilst I was in the Crystal City, but it doesn’t make his behaviour any easier to swallow...’

‘What do you mean you got to know him better?’ asked Thundercracker, trying not to sound bitter.

‘Well, I could talk to him whilst I was there -’

‘Starscream knew where you were the whole time?’

‘No,’ said Bumblebee. ‘I could just… talk to him. I don’t know how to explain it... Optimus described it as, uh… Infraspace. A kind of domain that only exists mentally, or… in _theory_ , I guess.’

He tapped the side of his helmet, gaze steady, expression unfathomable.

A backwash of warm energon flushed through Thundercracker’s fuel pump.

 _Infraspace_.

‘It’s weird, I know… Kind of a lot to take in… I wish Wheeljack were here. He’d be better at explaining...’

In his head, Thundercracker had answered, and they were having a normal conversation. In reality, he was so rigid with dread, he hadn’t so much as ran a subroutine since hearing the word ‘infraspace’.

What had Jetfire told him? Those who were alive could suffer _anomalies_. That their true memories could be mixed-up with the altered version of events he had been messing around with whilst using his machine. The dead, however, would not be affected.

‘So were you alive?’ Thundercracker dared ask. ‘Whilst you were there?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Bumblebee. ‘Yes? No? Maybe? I didn’t have a physical body. Optimus said things in infraspace exist only as ideas… That maybe Starscream and I were on the same wavelength somehow, and that’s how we could communicate.’

Thundercracker nodded, a prickling electricity scuttling over his circuitry.

‘And he… didn’t tell anyone.’

What he had wanted to say was, _He didn’t tell_ me.

As if he were in some way entitled to know. With the machine that had connected them, Thundercracker had replayed every memory they had ever shared, for hours upon days. They were always one step out of sync. One night, they might lie together, talking until Thundercracker was mentally wrest from the recollection. Another, they were shooting at each other, and Bumblebee didn’t trust a word out of his mouth. Eventually, the wires ended up in a snapped heap. The components, crushed to dust under his feet.

All his machine had ever shown him was a ghost. He could see that then. He just chose not to. But that truth could no longer be ignored.

Any relief, any joy that might have surfaced now that the _real_ Bumblebee was standing right in front of him, was fettered by an inexplicable sense of dissatisfaction. The feeling of reversed progress. _Loss_. He was forever going to have to remind himself that this Bumblebee was not the same one he had spoken with, apologised to. Interfaced with. Whether his memories were altered or not, they would have to start all over again. And maybe, in reality, Bumblebee wouldn’t want that.

‘It’s understandable,’ he heard Bumblebee saying, shy all of a sudden. ‘Seeing things, hearing voices… Believe me. That sort of stuff’s not easy to talk about…’

There was that kindness. That effortless understanding. And in their time apart, Starscream had been the one truly in receipt of it. Not him.

‘Everything okay?’ Bumblebee prompted. ‘You’ve gone quiet...’

‘Fine,’ said Thundercracker, stricken with shame. ‘I’m fine. I think I just… You know, have somewhere else to be.’

‘Oh.’ For a moment, Bumblebee appeared conflicted. ‘What about your work? We don’t have functionists anymore, so if you wanna be considered for this, I should really get you in the system -’

He gestured with his thumb to the console behind himself, turning to place his ruined datapad on a nearby desk.

‘It’ll only take a minute.’

Thundercracker nodded despite himself, stepping a little closer.

‘So, Earth,’ Bumblebee said, swiping here and there on the console’s screen. ‘You were really set on staying there last time we spoke.’

‘That was a long time ago,’ he managed.

‘I know,’ said Bumblebee, the last word clipped as if he had been about to say something else, but decided against it. ‘What made you decide to come back?’

Thundercracker took a moment, waiting for the soreness at his throat to recede before he spoke.

‘I was with the Earth Defence Command. Marissa - she’s the field commander -’

‘Yes, I’ve heard of her,’ said Bumblebee, now typing.

‘She let me have a dog. We called her Buster.’

‘Really?’ Bumblebee asked, turning around to face him. ‘That’s…’

He was smiling, gaze lingering, and Thundercracker didn’t know what to make of it.

‘What?’

Bumblebee shook his head. ‘Nothing. Never mind.’ He moved on before Thundercracker could press him. ‘When we were on Earth, Optimus wouldn’t let us bring anything like that into the base… You know, which was probably wise. With the amount of ‘bots we had to fit into a small space back then, a dog could’ve easily been stood on, I guess.’

‘Well, I didn’t stand on mine,’ Thundercracker said, tone bright until reality dawned. ‘She just got old, that’s all.’

‘Oh,’ Bumblebee said, features pulled by his sympathy. ‘I’m really sorry...’

Worse, Thundercracker could tell that he _meant_ it. With most others, the condolences were forced. Or they were like Starscream, and no attempt was made to understand at all.

 _What’s_ one _organic? And an animal, no less?_

If only _he_ could have been as detached.

Perhaps in trying to be, Thundercracker answered Bumblebee with a shrug.

‘Well… You’re all done here,’ Bumblebee said. ‘If you come by early tomorrow morning, Jetfire will be around to give you your first assignment. Did Starscream tell you what all of this entails?’

‘Sort of,’ he answered, his chest cavity feeling bristling hot. ‘I go find things. I bring those things back.’

‘Sort of,’ Bumblebee repeated back to him, grinning. ‘You’ll be doing a lot of data mining… Accessing abandoned consoles, retrieving data that has been lost since before the war. It’s really interesting, actually -’

Thundercracker angled in search of the exit. ‘I’m sure I’ll figure it out.’

When he looked back to Bumblebee, he seemed put out. Timid, and fidgety.

‘Do you need help finding where you’re off to next?’ he offered. ‘A lot has changed -’

‘No,’ said Thundercracker, abruptly. ‘Last time I checked, my internal navigating system still worked.’

‘Right…’

‘I’m guessing I’ll see you around though,’ he forced himself to say, stung at the sight of Bumblebee’s dejection. ‘Since you work here.’

‘I don’t,’ Bumblebee said. ‘I’m, uh, with Starscream, on the Council of Worlds. Maybe not for much longer though, since they need a representative for Earth.’

There was that feeling again. Like cold, black space expanding behind his spark casing.

‘I was just uploading some files…’

‘Maybe another time then,’ Thundercracker said.

He inclined his head respectfully, motioning to leave. And Bumblebee said nothing else. At least not then.

Thundercracker was striding down the Citadel’s deep blue corridors when the sound of rushed footsteps forced him to a halt.

‘Wait,’ Bumblebee was saying, so much shorter that it took him a few seconds to draw level. ‘I have to ask you something -’

‘Not right now,’ Thundercracker said, unable to look at him. ‘I told you -’

‘I know,’ Bumblebee interrupted, ‘you’ve got somewhere to be. But what about later? Do you have anywhere to be tonight?’

With the door a matter of steps away, Thundercracker stalled. Initially, he thought to reject him. A thought quickly chased up with others, imploring him to think of what that would achieve. If he kept living in the past, there would be nothing waiting for him in the future. Nostalgia would ruin him, if he let it.

Would starting again really be so bad? They could be friends again, if he tried.

‘I’m not doing anything,’ he said stiffly. ‘If you need me I’ll... be on a rooftop somewhere.’

Bumblebee flashed him a smile.

‘Great,’ he said. ‘If you could make that the roof of the new government building, I’d appreciate it -’

Thundercracker lifted his hand in acknowledgement, already striding away.

‘You know, ‘cause… since I can’t fly, I have to rely on the lifts,’ Bumblebee kept on.

Although he wanted to, Thundercracker did not turn back. His thoughts tormented him over it as he left the corridor, the door sliding behind him. Something told him that Bumblebee would still be standing there if he could just fight past his own melancholy, but he needed time first. Time to adjust. To rethink how to make use of what he had left.

 

* * *

 

The streets were bathed in light, the crowds thinning as the afternoon wore into evening. More stars pushed through the darkness, a chill feeding into Cybertron’s ever-present, thick heat, like oil pouring through a fissure.

Legs dangling over the edge of the building, Thundercracker dedicated his attention to people-watching. All of his wandering had worn most of the bad feeling out of his system. The day was coming to an end, and his emotions were not so intense. Tomorrow, he could start over. Wipe the slate clean, and move on.

Something he was glad for, when a shadow fell over the ground beside him.

‘Sorry I’m so late… Have you been waiting here long?’

‘No,’ said Thundercracker, his chronometer begging to differ.

Bumblebee sat beside him, leaving a comfortable gap. He leaned forwards to peer at the view below, drumming his fingers on the metal roofing. Thundercracker watched him, drinking in the detail. Not realising how intently he was staring, until Bumblebee looked up and caught him. Thundercracker drew his gaze to the high-rises turning to silhouettes on the horizon.

‘If I’m honest,’ Bumblebee said, sounding nervous, ‘I didn’t think you’d come.’

What Thundercracker intended to be surprise, instead left like a demand.

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know,’ Bumblebee said, hands now in his lap as he examined his fingers. ‘You just seem... different.’

‘That tends to happen when you don’t see someone for a while,’ Thundercracker said, tone surlier than he would have liked. ‘People change. Things change.’ He paused, reluctant in the admission. ‘You’re different to me too.’

He wished he could explain. About the machine, Jetfire’s data stores, his whole reason for doing it. But talking things out was only easy in theory. The truth was, everything felt so entangled, that his words were writhing away as fast as he could think them up.

‘How was your first day back on Cybertron?’ Bumblebee then asked, forcing a smile.

Thundercracker leaned forwards, arms resting casually over his legs.

‘Weird.’

‘Weird how?’

‘Called way too many shes “he”,’ he started, counting the list with his fingers, ‘and when I tried to fix it, I ended up calling too many hes “she”. Starscream was actually _trying_ to be nice. Also, are the combiners getting smaller, or is that just me -’

‘Oh, they’re not combiners,’ Bumblebee cut in, grinning slightly. ‘They’re the colonists from Devisiun. That’s their “thing”. They’re all born in pairs.’

‘Like Slide? She wasn’t that small -’

‘No, but I guess like us, they vary in height.’

Through the EDC, Thundercracker had met some of the colonists, and come to understand that things were changing. But on Earth, that change was filtered to him. Shown in glimpses. He was often given the benefit of the doubt; people assumed he would need to be told new details, and so he was told them. On Cybertron, however, he was just expected to know. Living on his home planet again was going to take a lot of readjustment.

‘Don’t worry about the pronoun thing by the way,’ Bumblebee said. ‘You’ll get used to it. But, uh, you might need a few years to get used to Starscream. I sure did.’

Thundercracker turned his attention to the thin roads under their hanging feet. The little zipping ground vehicles, and the back-and-forth flow of public transport.

A few years.

That was time he had spent chasing fantasies, and thinking of it as progress. He might as well have been talking into a mirror.

‘I’m sorry nobody told you,’ Bumblebee said.

‘About what?’ Thundercracker asked.

‘About me not being dead.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said, a little too quickly. Trying to recover, he added, ‘I missed a lot of news since they closed the spacebridge and stuff.’

After Optimus Prime had annexed Earth, the planet had been considered a possible target for Unicron’s attack. All communication and contact was severed until the planet-eater had been dealt with.

‘Of course,’ Bumblebee said. ‘I didn’t meant that to sound like I was… _assuming_ anything.’

‘Assuming what?’

The question came out with no prior thought, but Thundercracker realised belatedly that as far as Bumblebee was concerned, they had parted on sourer terms. There had been no reciprocating of his feelings in reality. No teasing, or testing him. Just refusal. Rejection. It showed in his answer.

‘Well… That you would care overly much.’

That truth, again, cut into Thundercracker’s spark, sharp as a blade.

‘I guess I didn’t.’

He hated himself for forcing detachment. That same attitude, his utter inability to make himself vulnerable; that was what had pushed him to correct his memories in the first place. Something easy enough to override, when he thought the object of his affections had been dead. Since Bumblebee was alive again, and ignorant, he supposed the easiest thing to do now was to pretend he was ignorant too.

‘You know, I’m starting to wonder if this is a Seeker thing.’

There was always such an easy atmosphere around Bumblebee, that Thundercracker almost flinched at the sudden change of his tone. The air on the rooftop was thick, like Earth’s sky through his vents just before a storm.

‘Just when I think we’re friends, you say something cruel. Starscream does exactly the same -’

‘That’s because you make friends too easily,’ said Thundercracker, that dull, painful sensation wringing the next insult out of him. ‘So if you’re thinking of trying Skywarp next, I wouldn’t bother. He hates you.’

The relief Thundercracker expected did not come. He just felt more wrongness, dripping down his systems. With the light around them waning, the blue of Bumblebee’s optics shone all the brighter. Thundercracker could see the lenses behind the coloured glass scanning him. His expression one of mute shock.

‘That was,’ Thundercracker attempted, smarting with guilt. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘Uhuh…’

‘I’m sorry. I’m just -’

‘Jealous?’ Bumblebee offered, tilting his head to the side in question.

Thundercracker’s immediate instinct was to spite him for his sharp insight.

‘Hah. Right. And what would I have to be jealous of?’

‘You tell me,’ Bumblebee prompted, ‘‘cause I don’t care if Skywarp hates me. Not as much as you do apparently. And I’m not gonna “try him next” either. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.’

Scalded, Thundercracker could think of nothing to say to disperse the awkward silence imposing in on them. This was fast becoming another memory for his machine to correct. Except, he didn’t have his machine anymore. He had destroyed it in temper, as he had done so many other things.

‘If you’re trying to tell me you want nothing to do with me,’ said Bumblebee, ‘then fine… I get the hint.’

That was not what Thundercracker wanted, and never had it been. His emotions were like a block inside of him, however, hardening the more he tried to express them.

‘Sure. ‘Cause taking a hint has always been your strong suit.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Bumblebee snipped.

‘Try all of those times I told you to leave me alone back on Earth,’ Thundercracker said, too sore to stop.

Frowning heavily and angled away from him, Bumblebee lapsed into a stare. Leaving Thundercracker to squirm in his own regret. He opened his mouth, about to offer an apology, only for Bumblebee to talk over him.

‘What about that time, when you…?’

He glanced at Thundercracker, silently inviting him to pick up the thread.

‘When I what?’

‘In Wheeljack’s workshop. You didn’t tell me to go away then.’

‘Yes I did.’

At least Bumblebee did not look upset anymore. He was gazing at the stars, lost somewhere in his own thoughts. Thundercracker watched as he brought his fingertips to his mouth.

The pause that followed plunged a chill in the energon coursing through him.

‘Uh, never mind,’ said Bumblebee all of a sudden, looking bashful. ‘Forget I said anything.’

He drew up his knees, readying himself to leave. Thundercracker halted him by taking his hand.

‘What are you talking about?’ he brought himself to ask.

Bumblebee looked down at their interlocked fingers. Their grips were weak, but neither made a move to pull away.

‘Nothing,’ he managed. ‘It’s nothing… Being in infraspace must have done something to my head.’

‘Like what?’ asked Thundercracker.

It was taking all of his concentration to keep his pitch from varying, to keep his voice measured, and calm. Sinking lower with chagrin, Bumblebee covered his face with his free hand.

‘I’m not getting into that now...’

‘You have to,’ Thundercracker demanded.

Bumblebee opened his fingers, staring at him through the gaps. ‘Why? It’s not important.’ He revealed his face again, straightening. ‘Do you know what it’s like to go years and years without a proper conversation? Your brain goes a little… odd. For a while, I couldn’t tell what was real. If _I_ was real.’

Still clutching his hand, Thundercracker inched along the rooftop’s edge, closing the gap. Bumblebee held his position, flushed, but maintaining eye contact.

‘If you tell me what you’re remembering,’ Thundercracker offered, ‘I can confirm what’s real or not.’

Bumblebee went quiet, and with that, Thundercracker’s doubts were washed away. His worries had been so quick to obscure the facts; they had _both_ been in infraspace. Of course there had to have been some overlap. Maybe something even stronger than the effects experienced by Skywarp and Starscream.

How had Jetfire put it? That his attention had only been drawn to his conflicted recollections, because he had seen the machine’s potential before. If Starscream remembered Thundercracker taking over the torturing at the Citadel, he would think he was mis-remembering. He would ignore it, because he knew deep down what had really happened.

For Bumblebee, trapped in that state of blurred reality, he could no longer separate the memories - the true events - from the ideas. The imaginings.

But Thundercracker wanted to be absolutely sure before he went any further.

‘Did the same thing happen with Starscream?’ he asked, cupping Bumblebee’s hand in both of his. ‘Do you remember things he doesn’t too?’

‘No, it’s not the same. What I had with you was…’

Rigid with discomfort, Bumblebee twisted his wrist in an attempt to detach himself. Thundercracker parted his hands, letting him go.

‘I thought they were dreams at first,’ Bumblebee went on, dropping his knees so that his legs hung over the side of the rooftop once more. ‘Like waking dreams… I’ve had those before. I was… so alone, that I didn’t question them too much. Until I realised… I wasn’t seeing anybody else. Only you.’

Thundercracker stiffened.

There had been that thought at the time. That he was violating some kind of boundary between them. Forcing something that might never have happened naturally. He had soothed himself then, thinking Bumblebee was only an echo from the past. Just an imagination made real. But the reality was starting to look more complex.

‘I’m sorry.’

That was all he could think of to say.

‘Why?’ Bumblebee asked. ‘I’m not.’

There was a brief moment, in which he looked scared. He put his hands on his knees, sagging forwards with the strength of his humiliation.

‘Besides, you don’t even know what I’m talking about. Not really.’

‘I’m sure it can’t be that bad,’ said Thundercracker nervously. ‘Whatever you, uh… saw...’

If there was ever a moment to confess everything, this was it. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to. Not yet.

‘I’m guessing this is why you wanted to meet with me,’ he tested instead.

Bumblebee nodded, correcting his posture.

‘I was trying to see if I could guess from how you interacted with me,’ he said. ‘You know… If you would… do or say something that would help me to figure everything out. I forget sometimes that not everyone shows their emotions as easily as I do…’

‘You’re not always so easy to read yourself,’ Thundercracker pointed out to him.

The awkwardness that had stifled them was starting to abate. His big secret, no longer so cumbersome. All of the natural light from Cybertron’s nearest stars had cooled, the buildings and infrastructure beneath them glowing in muted hues of blue, and hot white. Yellow, deep red, and the odd flash of green. Colour and sound their only company. If he waited on Bumblebee to make the next move, they would be sat there long enough to see the night turn into day.

‘Do you want me to help you?’ Thundercracker braved.

He angled himself closer, their knees knocking together. Bumblebee lifted his hands up, being careful not to touch his fingers to the other’s legs. Leaning closer, invited by his silence, Thundercracker brought his palm to the side of Bumblebee’s face.

He waited for rejection. A clear _no_. Ran his thumb just under his left eye. Although alert, Bumblebee made no move to put a stop to the closeness. So Thundercracker took his chance.

Sighing, he pressed their mouths together, lips parted, the kiss more like a breath. ‘Do you remember that?’ he murmured.

He traced a finger down Bumblebee’s neck, encouraging him to lift his chin so that he could brush more kisses just under his jaw.

‘Or this?’

‘I…’

Thundercracker returned to his open mouth, their denta catching until Bumblebee reciprocated more readily. His optics were dimming, head falling back as he relaxed. Until he went to lean one hand against the floor, misjudging the open air for the edge of the rooftop. In the same second he lurched forwards, Thundercracker swept out his arm to catch him, flustered, jaw sore.

‘Maybe that’s enough guessing for now,’ he said, spark almost stopping from the shock.

Bumblebee shuffled backwards, knees drawn up, resting back on his hands as he processed what had just happened.

‘I don’t understand…’

Thundercracker got to his feet, hand out in offerance. He bent his knees a little, stooping to help Bumblebee up.

‘Looks like I might have a lot of explaining to do.’

Hesitant, Bumblebee reached out for him. Even when he was stood to full height, neither of them tried to retract their hold. Bumblebee eyed him, speechless. With a gentle tug, he motioned to lead them towards the nearest way down. At least for grounders, or those without altmodes.

‘Do you have anywhere else to be tonight?' he asked.

Thundercracker shook his head.

'Good,' he smiled. 'Because I think we have a lot to talk about...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh.. The end! I hope this was an okay place to draw things to a close... or else I could go on forever. If people want though, I might do a little oneshot. An 'after the rooftop' scene, if you will. Let me know if you think that'd be interesting...?
> 
> Otherwise, all of my gratitude and appreciation from me to all of you for being so supportive and encouraging. All the interaction has really helped as this is all still really new to me. I’m very grateful for all of your kindness, and I hope we can have more ThunderBee adventures again sometime. Many thanks!


End file.
